


Shovels & Dirt

by LittlestWolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banshee Lydia Martin, Canon Related, Canon was molded to fit my vision, Canon-Typical Violence, Evil Kate Argent, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Nemeton, POV Derek, Pack Feels, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Professor Derek Hale, Stiles owns a coffee shop, The Alpha Pack, dont let that archive warning scare you away!, trust me - Freeform, what is this even i dont know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-10-27 00:00:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 83,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17756027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlestWolf/pseuds/LittlestWolf
Summary: It’s not until they’re turning off of the street that the firehouse is on that Stiles speaks. “So, mates, eh?”Derek's not really surprised. It's just his luck that he finds his mate and then a banshee predicts his death.  He's not really sure he even deserves to be happy. But he'll fight like hell for the chance.





	1. we pull our boots on with both hands but we cannot punch ourselves awake

**Author's Note:**

> Mama never told 'em there's a devil in me,  
> I got a mouth full of rotten and a heart full of greed  
> Shovels and dirt, shovels and dirt  
> Well it ain't worth living if you don't get hurt  
> I got a head full of darkness and darkness is good  
> 'Cause if we all die young then we don't get hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> What would you like? I'd like my money's worth.  
> Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this--  
> swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of blood  
> on the first four knuckles.  
> We pull our boots on with both hands  
> but we can't punch ourselves awake and all I can do  
> is stand on the curb and say Sorry  
> about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.
> 
> I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.  
> 

Derek’s barely slowed to a stop outside his building when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He slides up against the building to shelter himself from the rain and wind and pulls his phone from his pocket, wiping his hands on his pants before swiping to unlock. The rain had only really started picking up over the last mile of his run, but he had really been hoping for nicer weather in California than what he’d experienced in New York.   
  
The text from Cora just reads “COFFEE”.   
  
He rolls his eyes, but he’s not in the business of pissing off his sister, at least not this early in the morning. He had passed four different coffee shops on his run this morning, but none of them were open yet — it’s barely past 5 and the city blocks were still asleep, even bare of most drivers. There were obviously pros to living the big city life in New York and 24 hour coffee shops was definitely near the top of his list. 

He uses his phone to search for something open, relieved fo find a drive-through hut that’s only a few minutes away. Dark Moon Brew, ha. 

It’s starting to get cold outside now that he isn’t actively moving, so the shelter from the wind and downpour that the parking garage grants him is appreciated. Once in the Camaro, he cranks the heater higher and uses a sweatshirt in the back seat to rub his arms dry quickly before checking the route to the coffee stand one more time. 

It’s barely 5am — 5:13, to be exact — and there’s already a line on both sides of the small stand. That seems promising, at least — even desperate people don’t wait around in lines for bad coffee in most cases. 

He texts Cora back to tell her that he’s complying with her request, even though he’s sure she probably already knows. She pretends, for Derek’s sake, that she isn’t aware that she’s practically in charge, but they both know that isn’t the case.  
  
The coffee stand is nicer than most he’s seen. It’s clean, freshly painted, well-lit and has clear and well-designed menus on the outside wall. It’s more than he expected out of something like this, by far. Their prices are actually cheaper than Derek was expecting, too, so that’s really a plus. The line of cars is moving quickly, which is almost as surprising as everything else.   
  
The baristas that he can see are attractive, young, and full of energy. Even without rolling down his window he can hear the loud Pop Rock music playing inside the stand, and the girls he’s seen handing drinks through the window are dancing.   
  
It’s too early for that kind of energy, really, but Cora requested coffee, and dammit, he’s going to get the big-brother thing right this time. 

When he pulls up to the stand and rolls down his window, he’s surprised first by the immediate smell of sickly sweet everything, and then by the amount of people crammed into the stand. There’s six people, expertly moving around each other in the small space. It’s impressive.  
  
“Hey, be right there!” A guy says, practically shouting to be heard over the music. Immediately, Derek’s wolf hums, content. It’s a weird reaction by any count, but especially to a complete stranger. 

Derek nods, unwilling to shout back. He’s thrown by the response of his wolf. It’s been a long time since he felt so quickly content, and he can’t think of a single time that feeling of contentment was a reaction to a stranger. Derek thinks the last time he felt this way was when he was 10 and met his best friend for the first time, which isn’t really a road he wants to go down right now, so he pushes the memories away and focuses on the tip jar on the little shelf outside the window, which has drawings of wolves howling at a quarter.  
  
The same guy comes to the window after sticking straws in a few drinks and sliding them toward the opposite window and all Derek’s focus is on him again. He’s cute — freckled pale skin, bright whiskey eyes. He smiles and Derek’s heart flip-flops — it’s embarrassing.  
  
He grabs a tablet and then hops onto the window sill, sitting comfortably on the same little shelf on the outside of the stand that the tip jar sits on, shimmying his hips to avoid knocking into the tip jar. “Hey man,” he says, smiling brightly. “What can I get you?” 

“Uh, a medium black coffee and a large...” He scans the menu, realizing he hadn’t really looked at it. He’s annoyed that the smell of the coffee and flavorings inside seem to completely mask the man’s scent. “Cinnamon mocha?” 

“Sure,” the guy says, nodding. He’s tapping at the tablet and chewing on the string of his hoodie. “We have a Blood Moon which is cinnamon and white chocolate or a Shifter which has cinnamon and toffee. Or we can keep it simple with just Cinnamon.” His body is bobbing along with the music now. “I’m a big fan of the Blood Moon, myself.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Derek says automatically. He doesn’t even know if Cora likes white chocolate. Guess he’ll find out.  
  
He taps at the tablet again. “Do you have a stamp card, dude?” He leans away from the window to call the order in. Three other employees answer him with various forms of confirmation. 

“No, first time,” Derek says, halfway thrown by being called ‘dude’ and feeling awkward about how loud and peppy everyone here is. It’s not his scene, but Derek can already tell he’ll be back, chasing his wolf’s fascination. For a long time in New York, he’d avoided the way his wolf called for certain things. He wants a fresh start and he’s promised himself that would mean following wolf instinct more. And if that means this guy, then…fine. Just fine.  
  
The guys eyes light up. “Oh sweet, welcome then!” He sets the tablet down and holds the top of the window as he leans way in to grab something from a counter inside. He comes back with a small card and pulls a stamp out of his pocket. He stamps twice and hands it over. He has the sweatshirt string in his mouth again and it’s more distracting than Derek would like to admit. 

Derek fumbles for his wallet. “Sorry, how much?” He asks, scanning the menu for the drink he ended up with for Cora.   
“First time is on us,” the guy says, looking Derek over from his higher vantage point. “Thanks for giving us a try. Where you headed today? Working out?” 

Derek glances down at himself. “Just finished a run,” he says, swallowing. 

“Shit, so early for a run,” the guy says, laughing a little. He hops off the window and grabs two drinks. “You want a straw for either of these, man?”   
  
Derek shakes his head and takes the drinks carefully. “Thanks,” He says, glancing behind him. There’s an employee taking orders outside, clutching an umbrella and looking cold.  
  
“Hope to see you again,” the guy says, smiling brightly. “Thanks for checking out Dark Moon!” 

Derek nods and pulls away slowly, glad that it doesn’t take long for the sickly sweet scent from the coffee stand to get replaced with rain-fresh air from outside, leaving only the scent of Cora’s Cinnamon drink and his black coffee. He rolls his window up and tries to navigate his way back home without his GPS.  
  
Cora’s waiting impatiently at the door when he comes in and immediately starts making grabby hands for the cup. “We’re going shopping today, Der,” She says, without greeting him at all. “I know you think we can live on next to nothing, but we can’t.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. ‘Next to nothing’ includes a full size sectional couch, a dining room table, two full bedroom sets and a brand new TV.   
  
“Kitchen shit,” Cora says, reading his expression. “A coffee maker, a blender, some pots and pans. Are we going to eat take out forever?” She takes a drink of her coffee and her eyes widen. “What is this?”

“Is it bad?” Derek asks, wincing. “There was a lot going on.”   
  
“It’s amazing. Where did you go?” She slides the cardboard protector off the cup. “Dark Moon Brew. Is it close? Forget the coffee maker, I can live on this.” 

Derek rolls his eyes again. “Let me know when you make up your mind. I’m gonna shower.”   
  
Cora starts singing praises to Dark Moon Brew, and it’s definitely his cue to leave. 

When Derek gets out of the shower and dressed, Cora’s waiting impatiently at the dining room table, already dressed and makeup done. “Shopping, Derek. It’s time.”   
  
“You act like it’s been longer than three days since we’ve been here,” Derek grumbles, but he starts putting his shoes on anyway, because he’s going to be a better person here. A better brother. 

 ******

They’re halfway through Cora’s ridiculously long grocery list when they both tense up at the end of the bread aisle. There’s another werewolf here.   
Derek wants to leave immediately, but Cora takes a deliberate step forward, so Derek grips the cart tighter and goes too. He’s the alpha now but he still wants to give her power to decide some things.  
  
The werewolf in question barely looks at them when Cora steps up next to him in order to grab a bag of bagels. He glances up, steps away slightly, and goes back to studying the bread. It takes him only a second or two more to tense up and look back at Cora.   
  
Derek isn’t sure what to think about the guy — it’s embarrassing to see another Were take that long to recognize a scent, but it also says something about the safety of this area that a Were could be living so carelessly. 

He nods his head at them a little, grabs a loaf of thick-cut bread and walks away. 

Derek lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“That was weird, right?” Cora says, barely audible. She starts walking again, eyes on the end of the aisle where the other wolf disappeared, rather than on her list.   
  
“What did you want, a bread aisle brawl?” Derek asks, trying to lighten the mood. It was weird, though.

She chokes out a laugh. “I thought we checked about other packs in the area. He didn’t seem like an Omega.”  
  
“We checked dad’s stuff,” Derek says, trying not to focus on it too long. “But those are years old now.” He squeezes her arm gently. “We just need to be aware. We mean no harm here. We’re safe, Cora.”   
  
And he means that when he says it to his baby sister. But he’s also aware he’s saying it to his only living family member, so if he can’t sleep that night because he’s still not used to the noises around their loft, well, no one has to know but him. 

 *****

“I want Dark Moon,” Cora says, opening his door without knocking. It’s 6am, and by the looks of her, she didn’t sleep great either. “Are you coming?”

Derek sighs. “I bought you a coffee maker yesterday.”   
  
“And I was clear that Dark Moon was all I needed,” She says, collapsing onto his bed next to him. “I’ll go on a run with you later if you take me.”   
  
Derek rolls his eyes. Bribery. “You should go on a run with me later anyway,” he says, but he sits up and looks around for the sweats he stripped off last night, and Cora smiles triumphantly. 

 

The line of cars is even longer now, and Derek recognizes immediately that the guy from before is the one standing outside taking orders. It’s not raining, today, at least, but it’s still windy and cold. Derek’s not sure that he should be proud that he can recognize him, even in a too-big sweatshirt with the hood up. His heartbeat quickens childishly.

Cora sits up straighter. “Oh, what was that?” 

Derek feels his cheeks go hot. “What?” Playing dumb has never got him far before, but, it’s worth a shot.  
Her eyes light up and she scans the line, eyes stopping on the guy from yesterday immediately. “Him?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He says, but he can feel his heartbeat and he knows it’s not worth the lie. 

“He’s cute,” She says, grinning widely. “Looks younger than you…like, my age. Are you into that?” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Not when you say it like that, you freak.” 

Cora laughs and Derek loves the sound of it, so he can’t help but smile a little too. 

The guy is laughing at something the person in the car in front of them is saying, and Derek rolls down his window down in order to hear it. 

“Oh my god,” Cora says, sitting straighter. “You’re so gone on him already…how? What’s his name? You literally came here once.” 

The guy makes eye contact with Derek while still talking to the customer in front of them, and he waves wildly before bumping his fist with the person in front of them and sauntering to Derek’s car. 

He salutes at the window. “Hey, man! Happy to see you back. Did you like that Blood Moon yesterday?” He glances at Cora.  
  
Derek motions to Cora. “My sister loved it,” He says.   
  
She leans forward. “A work of god,” She says, grinning. She smells positively delighted, which is both nice to smell and terrifying to think of what she might do with it. 

The guy lights up. “Ah, love to hear that!” He flips his hood off and puts a sweatshirt string in his mouth all in the same movement. “What can I get you guys today?” 

“What’s your favorite?” Cora asks, leaning even further across the center console.  
  
“Oh shit,” he says, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks go a little pink after he curses and he apologizes under his breath. “I usually go for a 911,” he says, tipping the tablet to show a menu. He taps the 911. ‘Six shot Irish cream breve’. Six shots? No wonder he can’t hold still. “But if you’re not looking for a cold drink, the Dream Weaver or Four Alarm are great too.”   
  
Cora’s reading the tablet, but Derek’s focused instead on the younger man’s wrist — his sweatshirt is caught on a bracelet and there’s a thick jagged scar on the inside of his wrist, disappearing upward under the sleeve. 

If he notices Derek looking, he makes no notice of it, but still, when Cora says “surprise me” and he pulls the tablet back toward himself, he works the sweatshirt back over the bracelet.   
  
“What about you, big guy?” He asks, cheeks going a little red as he says it. It’s cute. 

“Just a small black for me,” Derek says. 

He nods. “Classic. Boring, but classic.” He winks and then starts walking forward, motioning for Derek to pull up with him. “Cash or card?” He adds, before Derek has time to defend himself.   
  
Cora’s absolutely giddy beside him.   
  
Derek pulls his card and the stamp card from his wallet and passes them over. 

He swipes his card and hands it back before stamping the card and passing that back too. He angles the tablet toward Derek again to have him sign. 

Derek taps the button for a 15% tip and signs. 

“Thanks, Derek.” He says, grinning, before waving at Cora and heading to the car behind them.   
  
Cora barely waits for him to roll his window all the way back up to squeal. “He’s into you!”

Derek groans. “How on earth did you come to that conclusion?” 

Cora rolls her eyes. “He’s so into you. You’re oblivious, as always. But I’ll let it slide this time because that is adorable.”   
  
“It’s literally his job to be friendly. He’s probably not even gay.”   
  
Cora laughs loudly. “He is not straight.” She waves a hand. “Honestly, Derek. When was the last time you dated someone — actually dated?”   
He pulls forward again without answering. 

“Kate?” Cora says, voice quiet.  
  
“No,” Derek comes back quickly. “There was Jennifer.”  
  
Cora frowns, mutters something about that not being much better. Jennifer didn’t kill his family, but then again, she was bat-shit crazy and stole his car and tried to light that on fire, so he has that going for him. “Have you ever dated a guy?” 

“Do we have to do this right now?” Derek asks, nodding at the coffee stand. The car in front of them just got their drinks. It’s almost their turn and if Derek could avoid discussing his embarrassingly bad love-life in earshot of anyone, really, it’ll be a good day.  
  
He sees the guy approaching the stand in his side mirror and blushes when they make eye contact through the mirror. The guy winks again before slipping inside, a smile on his face. Cora keeps sitting up straighter, like she’ll get some sort of power over Derek the higher she ascends out of her seat. 

Derek rolls his window back down and pulls up to the coffee window. The stand has even more people inside this time, which Derek didn’t really think was possible, but here it is. The music is playing just as loud, but it’s an obnoxious country song this time, something about a ‘body like a back road’ which is just — what?

The girl closest to the window yells “Stiles is back!” as she squeezes ungodly amounts of chocolate into a cup.

The guy from outside — Stiles, apparently — practically tosses the tablet onto the counter below the window. “Which means someone needs to turn this shit off,” he says, grabbing a phone and changing the music from country to classic rock. Derek’s glad for it.  
  
“Catch that, Der?” Cora whispers. “Stiles.” 

Derek rolls his eyes as Stiles appears in the window. “Like, twelve people on earth enjoy country music and I think over half of them work here.”   
  
Cora laughs. “Hey, what if we liked country?”   
  
Stiles raises an eyebrow. “I saw you guys out walking yesterday. Leather jacket driving a Camaro and you, with the combat boots and a winged liner that could kill? You’re not country fans.” He winks as he moves away from the window. 

“Not straight,” Cora whispers, absolutely thrilled. Derek’s ears are pink as he runs through their day yesterday — when could Stiles have seen them? They went on a walk after lunch, just down to a park a few blocks away. Cora had begged him to get ice cream but even a werewolf thinks its too cold for ice cream in weather like this. Except Cora, apparently. She ordered a large milkshake and drank the whole thing by the time they got back to the apartment.  
  
Stiles comes back with their drinks. “Please try this before leaving,” He says, sticking a straw in one of them. “I’ll make you something else if you hate it.”   
  
Derek passes the drink to Cora, who takes a sip of it immediately. It smells sweet, so she probably loves it. “This is amazing,” She says, her eyes lighting up. “What is it?”   
  
Stiles looks relieved. “911 with caramel,” he says, grinning. “And black coffee for you,” He says, handing it through to Derek. “Thanks for coming by again! Have a great day.”   
  
Derek mumbles a thank you and drives away, sure his cheek are still red for some reason. 

Cora is staring into his soul, he thinks. “You’re getting his number by the end of the month,” She says. “Or I’m going to start shifting in town for fun again.” 

***

Derek doesn’t go with Cora the next day, but only because classes start the day after that and he wants to make sure he has everything ready for his first week. 

“You’re going to be the worst teacher,” Cora says immediately upon walking inside. She hands him a medium black coffee. “That looks boring as hell.” She says, motioning toward his lesson plan. “And by ‘looks’, I mean is. I read through it all last night.” she adds, when he narrows his eyes.   
Derek frowns at it. “What are you talking about?” He shifts through his different lesson plans. “Lit and Sexuality? Poets in the World? Shakespeare?”

“All of it is horrid,” She says, waving a hand. “Would be better to trash it all and start new.” 

She sounds like she’s telling the truth, which sucks. Derek drops his head down onto his plans and groans.  
***

A few hours later, Derek takes his lesson plans and laptop to a coffee shop down the street that he remembered seeing on his runs. Cora had been bugging him all morning about Stiles — “he asked where you were, he remembers!” — and his lesson plan — “I’m just saying, no one likes those ice breaker games” — and he really did need to focus if he wanted to change a few things about his course plans before the start of the year.  
The coffee here is more expensive and tastes worse than at Dark Moon, which is both surprising and upsetting. The atmosphere is okay at least. It’s mostly quiet aside from a few college groups and a mom group, but he picks a secluded booth and is able to block it out in order to focus.  
He spends a few hours in the corner booth, reworking his course plan and assignments, forcing himself out of his comfort zone of teaching. It’ll be his first full term of teaching —3 different courses — and it’s at an actual university rather than a community college, so he wants to impress the board. He’d worked as sub at the university upstate in new york, and he’d done almost an entire term subbing for a pregnant woman at the community college, but this is his material and his class. He wants to make himself proud, too. 

He’s on his third mug of coffee and first croissant when his wolf senses something off. He scans the coffee shop but nothing inside looks worth worrying about. He tries to ignore it, but after another five minutes of staring at his laptop without changing or adding anything new to his plans, he realizes he’s too jittery to stay here. He calls Cora as he packs up his books, suddenly worried that it’s something wrong with her. 

“Hey, loser,” She answers, sounding bored. “If you’re calling to ask if you should pick up sandwiches from that sub shop on the corner, the answer is yes.” 

“Feel anything weird?” He asks, ignoring her.   
  
“Shit, no?” She says, sounding more alert. “All fine here. What’s wrong?” 

“Something feels weird,” He says, slinging his bag onto his shoulder. He leaves the half eaten croissant and coffee mug. “I’m going to check it out.”

“Where are you? Call me in five minutes, Derek, I swear, or I’ll freak.” 

He grunts an agreement and hangs up as he goes outside. 

He zeroes in on an alley down the block immediately and jogs to get there, senses on high alert.   
  
He turns the corner at the alley and finds nothing. There’s a lingering scent of fear and...magic? It’s been a long time since he smelled magic, especially this strong, but he’s sure that’s it. 

He walks down the alley slowly in hopes of finding who might be responsible. 

He runs straight into Stiles when he rounds the corner on the opposite end of the alley. 

Stiles is staring back at Derek with a bloody nose and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looks surprised to see Derek and smiles. “Hey, man!” 

“You’re bleeding.” Derek says in response. 

Stiles touches his upper lip carefully and looks at the blood on his fingers. “Shit, thanks.” He says, slinging the duffel bag into the back of a truck parked on the street. He unlocks the cab and reaches in, coming back with a napkin that he presses to his nose. “How was Margin?”   
  
Derek narrows his eyes and looks back down the alley. Stiles seems far too calm to have been involved in whatever occurred there, but Derek’s still confused. “Margin?” He can’t smell anything on Stiles — no magic, no fear. Just…a soft, familiar smell of the woods and caramel. 

Stiles grins a little. “That was you I saw in there, wasn’t it?” He nods back down the alley.   
  
The coffee shop, right. “Oh, yeah.” Derek says, trying to focus on the scent of Stiles. He really can’t pick out anything remotely like the magic he could smell in the alley, but there’s no one else around. It’s been several minutes since he sensed something was up, but the magic smell in the alley was still very fresh. “It’s not that great.” 

Stiles laughs. “You’re telling me, man. That place is shit. If you need a sit down place, try Java Network. Stupid name, but the coffee’s decent and their cinnamon rolls are incredible.” 

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, looking between Stiles and the alley.   
  
Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Like, are my feelings hurt that you went to Margin instead of Dark Moon?”  
  
“Your nose,” Derek says. “Did you get hit?” 

Stiles grins a little at that, for only half a second, before his face falls back to neutral. “I get bloody noses when I get cold sometimes. And my feelings are hurt, incase you did care.” But he winks, so Derek knows he’s joking. 

Derek huffs. His ears tell him that Stiles’ answer is not a lie, but...something more is happening. “I needed a sit down place, like you said.”  
  
Stiles grins. “I know, dude,” He says, laughing a little. “We have a few picnic tables behind the stand in the spring and summer, so you can’t use that excuse always.” His ears are a little red, and he nods at the truck. “I’m running late for a thing, so I gotta get going. See you around, Derek.” 

Derek nods and waves a little. “Yeah, see you.”   
  
Stiles gets into the truck and starts it, Fall Out Boy blasting from the speakers. It’d be easily heard even for a human. He doesn’t turn it down, just lifts his fingers off the wheel in a wave and pulls away from the curb.    
  
Cora’s calling. He answers and she speaks immediately. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing? I don’t know,” Derek says, making his way back down the alley. “I ran into Stiles.” 

“And?” She sounds impatient.

“I smell magic.” 

“On him?” She asks, surprised. 

“I couldn’t really smell anything on him,” he admits. “Caramel. The woods. Sweat.” 

“Are you coming home?” She asks, still sounding uneasy. 

“On my way now,” He says. “We need to look back through dad’s stuff,” He adds. There’s a little more than “occasional supernatural presence” here, like his notes had said, and Derek wants to be more aware of what they’re around. 

“Okay, but seriously, can you pick up some sandwiches?” Cora asks, and it’s obvious she already knows he will. If his eyes didn’t prove differently, sometimes he’d think she were the alpha. 

 

****

Derek doesn’t see Stiles for another few days, despite stopping at Dark Moon on the way to his classes each day. He doesn’t dare ask the other baristas, despite Cora’s encouragement to do just that, but he still pulls up each day hoping to see the younger man. 

He’s already annoyed with Cora’s attitude about her classes and her poor work-ethic when it comes to getting homework done, so when she demands he go pick up burgers and fries instead of ordering delivery for dinner, it just adds to it. But still, here he is, walking to the diner a few blocks down from their apartment, because he’s trying to be a better Alpha and more importantly, a better brother. He’s pretty sure she’s picked up on his inability to say no to her when it counts, so he really needs to start drawing a line before she gets creative. He’s glaring at the ground the whole way, cursing himself for getting himself into this position — if he hadn’t let Kate into his life, hadn’t given her a key to their home, they never would’ve died. It seems drastic — a minor argument with his little sister shouldn’t have him reeling over this, but knowing that doesn’t stop the wheels from turning. He was never meant for the role of Alpha. If he hadn’t have been so stupid, so gullible, Laura wouldn’t have had to be an alpha before she was ready and she wouldn’t have gotten killed by Peter and — and everything would have been okay. But he did let Kate into his life, into his bed, and now everyone’s gone and he’s the alpha and he has no idea what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how to make Cora try in school and isn’t even really sure he has the right to demand it from her. 

He’s still glaring at the ground when he enters the diner. His wolf alerts him of Stiles’ presence before he actually notices him, and Derek’s not sure how he feels about how his wolf has picked up on the human’s heartbeat after so little time with him. He doesn’t have time to focus on that aspect of it, though — Stiles doesn’t look good. He looks exhausted and overworked, despite not being at Dark Moon the past four days to Derek’s knowledge. He’s surrounded by papers and has a tablet and a laptop in front of him, hand resting in a basket of curly fries that he’s seemingly forgotten about in favor of looking intently at something in one of the notebooks. He has headphones in and is tapping his fingers to the beat of what he’s listening too, barely audible for Derek over the rush of the noise in the diner. 

Derek orders for he and Cora at the counter and then finds himself standing at the edge of Stiles’ booth before he thinks better of it. 

Stiles glances up and smiles, pulling his hand from the basket of fries and wiping in on his pants and pausing the music at the same time, pulling a headphone out. He shuts one of the notebooks and half closes the lid of the laptop quickly. “Hey man, what’s up?” He doesn’t really even seem surprised to see Derek, though he guesses Stiles could’ve seen him while he was in line or ordering. 

Derek clears his throat. “Uh, hey,” he says, unsure of what his plan was. “I’m just picking up some dinner for Cora and I and saw you here, so…thought I’d say hey.” He glances at the still open notebooks in front of Stiles — one of them is definitely entirely in French. Another one is some sort of accounting homework, by the looks of it. The tablet has a youtube video open — Brake Light Repair 1980 Jeep. Huh.

“This place is greasy heaven, you guys will love it,” Stiles says, then he shrugs a little. “Well, you’re ripped as hell so who knows if you’d like junk like this. But I know what Cora orders at 6 in the morning and she’ll love it.” 

Derek’s thrown by the casual mention of his physique. He’s not used to people being so honest. “You’re not…” He struggles, feeling his cheeks get hot. He gives up on trying to return the compliment. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

Stiles looks amused. “You teach at BHU, yeah?”

Derek’s surprised. “Yes. English. Are you studying?” He nods toward the papers.

Stiles grins. “Something like that, yeah.” He has the string of his headphones in his mouth now, and his fingers start tapping one of the notebooks. “My friend is in your Lit and Sexuality class, she said you’re great.”

Derek hates that his cheeks get red at the compliment. “That’s great to hear. We’ll see if she thinks that way after the midterm.”

Stiles laughs and the way his eyes light up has Derek wanting to make him laugh over and over again. “I’ll warn her now.” 

“Order for Hale,” Someone behind the counter calls. Derek wishes it would’ve taken longer. 

Stiles nods. “Enjoy that, man. Tell Cora I said hey.” 

Derek nods, looking across Stiles again. There’s dark circles under his eyes and his hair is greasy, half-hidden by a beanie. He has glasses that he doesn’t wear at the coffee stand. He still smells like the woods and caramel but he also smells tired. Anxious, maybe. “You work less during the school year?” Derek asks. “Cora mentioned she hasn’t seen you.” He adds, when Stiles’ eyebrows raise. Cora doesn’t have to know he’s using her as a scapegoat. 

“My hours are all over the place.” His fingers are still tapping against the french-filled notebook. “Always there on Friday mornings, though,” He adds, smiling a little. 

Tomorrow, then. Derek nods, lifts his hand in a wave. “Cool, she’ll be happy to hear,” He says, walking toward the counter

Stiles just winks and lifts his hand in a wave, too.

By the time Derek’s confirmed they got the order correct and moves to leave, Stiles has headphones back in and is writing quickly in the French notebook, oblivious to the world around him. 

 

***

Stiles is sitting on the window sill again, body moving easily to the music inside. The dark circles under his eyes at the diner the night before seem to be less stark against his pale skin, despite the still-early hour. Derek hopes that means he got meaningful rest and then wonders why he cares so deeply about the practically-still-stranger that is Stiles.

Derek’s surprised to see only three other cars, despite it being nearly 7. Every other morning had been full by this time. Stiles sees him and grins and waves, even while talking to the person that’s at the window. He hops off the ledge back into the stand, and Derek can’t see him until he leans out to hand a tray full of drinks to the person in the car. 

The car in front of him only orders a muffin and then they’re pulling away almost as quickly as they’d pulled up. Stiles is back on the window ledge, sweatshirt string in mouth. Always with the mouth. 

“How’d you like the diner?” Stiles asks as soon as Derek’s stopped.

“Greasy heaven,” Derek says, nodding. “Just like you said.”

“A Stilinski man tells no lies.” Stiles grins and makes a hand motion of crossing his heart. “How many miles did you run this morning?” Derek thinks he notices Stiles wince a little at the first statement and there’s too much to unpack there in this short moment, so he chooses to ignore it. 

Derek huffs a laugh. “No more than I usually do.”

“Which is not what I asked,” Stiles says, laughing a little. “I went on a run yesterday with my buddy. Six miles, man, and I don’t think I’ll recover for another six months.”

Derek lifts his eyebrows. “You just got up and decided to start running and went for six miles?”

Stiles laughs. “Hey, that’s assuming I wasn’t running before! Which I was. Three miles a day, thank you very much. But Scotty wanted to do some trail running and that shit is entirely different than these downtown blocks.”

Derek laughs a little. “Where did you go? I’ve been looking for a good trail.”

“Yeah, you would,” Stiles says, leaning into the stand to grab a coffee. Derek realizes once he’s taking it from Stiles’ hand that he never ordered. “It’s called Porter’s Head, about twenty minutes from here.”

Derek nods. “I’ll have to check it out. Six miles, you said?”

“I said that’s how long I lasted. Scotty did the full twelve, I think. It might even be fifteen, if you have a death wish.”

There’s not many humans who do 12 miles for fun on a Thursday. It’s interesting. “I might,” Derek says, actually curious to check it out. “You have me feeling self conscious about that diner food, now.”

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, I bet.” 

A car pulls up behind him and Stiles frowns a little. “Hey, have a good day.” Derek reaches for his wallet but Stiles shakes his head. “Make Lydia Martin answer a really tough question in class today and we’re even,” He says with a wink.

Derek knows exactly who Lydia Martin is — obviously brilliant and engaged with the material and his assignments easily — so he nods. “We can call that fair. See you, Stiles.”

Stiles nods and hops off the window ledge as Derek starts to pull away. Derek sees in his rear-view mirror that someone replaces him at the window and while he’s waiting for a break in traffic to pull back onto the main road, he sees Stiles getting into his truck across the parking lot. 

He tries not to think that Stiles was just waiting around for him, but...maybe Cora is right about getting Stiles’ number. 

 

He sees Stiles again that day, while walking form his office to his Literature and Sexuality class and it’s…weird. Lydia Martin has her hands on either side of his face and she’s saying something to him, voice way too hushed for him to hear at this distance and over the chaos of other students and the wind outside. Stiles’ eyes are closed and his arms are crossed over his chest tightly. He’s wearing a long sleeve thermal shirt and Derek realizes it’s the first time he’s seen him not wearing a hoodie. Derek had definitely been right about his assumption at the diner — Stiles was definitely in shape.

Stiles uncrosses his arms and opens his eyes and Lydia drops her hands, squeezing his shoulders instead, before dropping her arms completely to her side. “I’ll be in class until four,” She says, Derek close enough now that he can hear her. “But if something happens, I’ll step out.”

Stiles turns slightly and sees Derek, nodding his head a little at him before turning back to Lydia. He says something that Derek can’t hear and Lydia rolls her eyes and smells annoyed, but she doesn’t say anything else to Stiles. 

“Stiles,” Derek greets. “Miss Martin.”

Lydia smiles brightly at him. “Professor Hale,” She nods.

“Sup, Derek,” Stiles says, running a hand through his hair. He pulls his sleeves up to his elbows and Derek has to tear his eyes away from the scar he’d seen earlier — it disappears under his sleeves at his elbows, even. His other arm is tattooed and Derek wants to see what else there is under there. Stiles bumps his fist into Lydia’s shoulder and leaves without waiting for an answer or saying anything else, reeking of anxiety. 

Derek tries to pretend he’s not effected by the weirdness of the encounter, but Lydia takes a deep breath and turns to keep walking toward the classroom. “He’s stressed today,” She says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “He gets weird.”

Derek just nods in response, unsure what’s appropriate for him to say in a situation like this.

***

Lydia expertly answers his question on Audre Lorde that he tries to stump her with. A quarter til four, Derek catches her checking her phone very religiously. It distracts him and causes him to stumble on his pronunciation of biomythography. She makes eye contact with him immediately after and when she checks her phone again as he’s waiting for someone to answer his question on what else could fall under the category of a biomythography, she mouths ‘sorry’ to him. He’s confused for only half a second — she packs her laptop quickly and slips out of her row and out the door.

Stiles is in trouble, or at the very least he’s upset, his wolf tells him. He replays the conversation he’d eavesdropped on earlier, wishing now more than before that he could have heard Stiles’ response. 

He ends class early, too distracted to finish his explanation of Audre Lorde’s work. He’ll try again next week. 

***

He goes on a run that night — Porter’s Head Trail — determined to distract himself from whatever his brain was letting himself think up about Stiles’ weird behavior and Lydia’s early departure from his class. He’s not willing to go all out and track them down — what would he even say? Hi, I’m a werewolf and I’m weirdly attached to you? 

Intro to Werewolf Living says absolutely not. 

He’s so focused on wondering what Stiles might be up to that he doesn’t notice that there’s another werewolf on the trail until he’s six miles deep. He smells it easily now that he’s slowed down. It’s fresh and nearby. He stops running, trying to force his breathing to quiet so he can try to focus enough to hear a heartbeat. 

There’s two, and as soon as he pinpoints the location of the first, a werewolf steps out of the trees. The guy that appears looks relaxed more than ready to fight, so Derek doesn’t go into total defense mode — but there’s still a second heartbeat. 

Someone else steps out from the tree-line, the opposite side as the first, and he flashes red eyes at Derek. He looks young, just like the other wolf, neither of them are probably much older than Cora, and that surprises Derek. He flashes red eyes back but still puts his hands up in a show of peace. 

“I’m not here for harm,” Derek says, trying to remember what the proper wording is. “I respect your claim on this land and your authority over the pack inside it.”

The alpha grins. “We know, dude,” He says, and that is…shocking. Derek’s really not sure what to say. “If we’d been worried we would’ve met up long before now.”

The other werewolf nods, picking at something under his nails with one clawed hand. 

“Usually we’d have our emissary around for this, but he’s busy tonight and we heard your heartbeat and thought, fuck it.” The Alpha admits, shrugging. “We just want to touch base. You’re teaching at BVU, so we assume you plan on sticking around.” 

This is so unlike every official greeting between two packs that Derek’s ever seen. It’s informal and awkward and way, way too honest on the other Alpha’s part. “Uh, yes. Like I said, I respect your claim on this land and your authority over the pack inside it.”

The Alpha smiles again. “Just you and your sister, right?” The other asks. Derek realizes he must be the alpha’s second.

Derek nods. “We lost most of our pack to hunters.”

The Alpha nods, face solemn. “Sorry to hear that, dude.”

“We have alliances with other supernaturals here,” The other wolf says. “If you threaten those, you will be held accountable.”

Other supernaturals. “Obviously,” Derek says, realizing his hands are still up in surrender. He drops them. “We mean no harm to your alliances or territory.”

“So you’ve said,” The Second says. He doesn’t trust Derek and it’s obvious. Derek resists the urge to flash his eyes at him, like that’d suddenly fix the guy’s trust issue. 

“Some of our allies have expressed some concern over the size of your pack,” The Alpha continues. “Pretty rare for a two-person pack to last, one way or the other.”

Derek nods. “I won’t be biting anyone.”

The Second huffs an unimpressed laugh. Derek narrows his eyes. 

“Cool, that’s just want I was hoping to hear.” The Alpha says, ignoring the other wolf entirely. He rubs his neck. “Our Emissary does really want to speak with you, explain some shit about this area, though…” 

Derek nods. “I understand.”

“We’re assuming you don’t have a functioning Emissary,” the Second says. “So if we’re wrong, now’s the time to go ahead and say that.”

It bothers Derek and his eyes flash involuntarily. The Second’s eyes flash back — blue. Derek’s eyes would be blue too, if he weren’t an alpha, but the color still makes him take pause. He swallows and forces himself to stay calm. “It’s jut my sister and I, correct.”

The Alpha nods, still ignoring the Second, it seems. “Cool. You free to meet for lunch tomorrow?”

***

He’d stayed up all night, pacing the length of his room. He can hear Cora tossing and turning in her own room, and he knows his anxiety is partly to blame for that, but he can’t force himself to stop. 

He’d known as soon as he’d seen the other werewolf in the grocery store that this was inevitable, and honestly, he probably should have tried too seek it out — the fact that there are multiple other supernatural creatures in the area means a complicated infrastructure that he or Cora could have easily — even if accidentally — interrupted. 

Cora bursts into his room at exactly 6 with coffee made from the coffee pot they’d bought the first week they’d arrived — used for the first time today. “Okay, so why are we panicking? They didn’t try to challenge you, or anything, so it’s fine. Having another pack around is good, anyway, allies are good.”

Derek sighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Cora,” Derek admits. “This was never supposed to be my job.” 

She frowns for only a second before she shrugs, obviously trying to stay positive. It’s not Derek’s strong suit by any means. . “You said they were young. Maybe they don’t know how it goes, either.” 

“They have an Emissary. The fact that they pointed that out means that they have at least a semi-grasp on what should be happening.” Not to mention that an Alpha at his age has to be something impressive on their own. 

Cora nods and climbs into his bed, holding her mug between her hands and sipping it slowly. “This tastes like shit.” She says, frowning into the cup.

***

They stay in Derek’s room, both wincing at the coffee she made but drinking it anyway. They finish their coffee and still stay, sitting on Derek’s bed, shoulder to shoulder, in silence for another hour. It’s nice, even with the anxiety rolling off of both of them. Packs need closeness and it’s been a little lacking lately. That’s Derek’s fault, he knows. 

Still, Derek forces himself up at 7:45 and starts going through the motions of his morning workout. Cora joins him after a few minutes, surprising him. 

When they finish, he knocks his elbow into hers. “We’ll be fine, Cor.”

She huffs a small laugh. “Hales always win.” She says, and Derek tries not to wince at the phrase. 

“Hale’s always win,” He repeats back as he goes into the bathroom to shower. His father had said it almost every day for the entire lives. Where it used to make him feel safe, he know just feels an endless pit of guilt. 

Hales always win until Derek messes it up.

He doesn’t want to mess this up, but really, he sees a hundred ways to mess it up and very few ways to get it right. He takes a longer shower than he usually does, letting the hot water beat down on his body and the steam cloud his senses while he wallows. When Cora knocks on the bathroom door and asks if he’s almost done or if she should go get breakfast without him, he clears his throat and shuts it off. 

There’s a time for pity and there’s a time for strength. He really, really needs to be strong now. As Cora’s alpha, as the last male of the Hale pack, as — as himself, really. He needs to do this right for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title & the poem are from richard siken's Little Beast, which is beautiful and amazing and i recommend you read!
> 
> This was my 2018 Nanowrimo work -- I finished the 30 days with just over 77,000 words and finished all but the last chapter, so you can expect this story to be over 77k words. Thanks for giving me it a chance! <3


	2. try explaining a life bundled with episodes like this -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What would you like? I'd like my money's worth.  
>  Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this--  
>  swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of blood  
> on the first four knuckles.  
>  We pull our boots on with both hands  
> but we can't punch ourselves awake and all I can do  
>  is stand on the curb and say Sorry  
>  about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.
> 
> I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time. 

The drive to the address the Alpha had given him is relatively quiet, their nerves both too high to strike up idle conversation. Cora flips through the radio stations for a while before she just punches the button off and sighs. He can’t tell which of them is reeking of anxiety more and he tries to force himself to calm down. He’s an Alpha now. The least he could do is pretend to act like one, especially now, when it really counts. 

“Did you look this address up to make sure they’re not going to like, kill us?” Cora asks, staring at Derek’s phone GPS. They’re not very far away now and each mile makes his heart beat faster. 

He had. He’d looked it up immediately after getting back to his car from the trail the night before. “It’s an old firehouse,” Derek says. “So, jury’s out.” They both know if the other pack had wanted them dead, they could’ve easily overpowered Derek in the woods last night and then just as easily picked Cora off when she felt the pack shift and came to investigate. Still, it’s impossible not to be anxious about the meeting. 

“We should’ve gone to Dark Moon,” Cora says, sounding actually upset. “I could’ve had a 911 or Blood Moon in my system when I died.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but he can’t exactly disagree. Their coffee this morning had been severely lacking. 

“You could’ve asked for Stiles’ number.” She adds, waggling her eyebrows. “I mean, you couldn’t use it, because you’d be dead, but, still.”

“Can you stop saying they’ll kill us?” Derek says, making the last turn. He can see the firehouse now, bright and inviting in a way that the photo on google maps hadn’t been. That seems promising, at least. 

Cora doesn’t answer, eyes locked onto the firehouse now, too. 

Derek slows to a stop outside stares for a few seconds before turning the car off and getting out. Calm, confident, relaxed. That’s Derek Hale as an Alpha. Cora follows behind him closely. 

Derek knocks on the door. He hears someone shout “Jackson, door!” from somewhere inside.

The door opens, revealing the Second from last night. He raises his chin in a greeting. “Hey, come in. Shoes off, preferably.” A blue jeep comes around the corner behind them quickly, tires squealing with the angle they are forced to take at a higher speed than normal. The Second rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind Cora, waiting for them to slip off their shoes and then motioning for them to follow him. 

The hallway is longer than Derek expected, and the three pass several closed doors on the way to a great room with a dining room, kitchen and living room area. There’s a large bookcase filled with books and Derek can see from here that whoever filled it has great taste. There’s a fireman’s pole in the corner, Cora elbowing and nodding toward it with a grin. 

The Alpha is in the kitchen, slicing tomatoes. There’s a girl behind him pulling condiments from the refrigerator, she turns and scans Derek and Cora judgmentally before she turns back to the fridge and continues to pull things from it. There’s a younger man at a table, staring at a laptop. Derek recognizes the website as the BVU online coursework site, TopHat. At the kitchen bar, a girl sits with headphones in at a laptop — she’s typing quickly and extremely focused. He sees someone peek their head out of a door down the hallway. 

“Hey,” The Alpha says, looking up. “We’re almost done with food, and technically we shouldn’t get started till our Emissary is here anyway.”

“Emissary incoming,” The Second says. “And pissed off, by the looks of his driving.” He’s standing by the backdoor now — Derek can see a grill and can smell the meat cooking if he focuses. 

Blue jeep, Derek assumes. 

A door slams behind them and Derek recognizes the heartbeat before he even turns around. 

“Derek, Cora, hey,” Stiles says, throwing a duffel bag onto the floor just inside the door. “Jackson, can we talk about your complete fucking incompetence?” 

The Second just rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind him.

“I swear, Scott, I’ll fucking kill him one day.” Stiles says, stripping his sweatshirt off and tossing it back out the door into the garage. 

The Alpha doesn’t even look up from his tomatoes. “Stiles, we have guests.” 

Lydia comes down the hallway — because of course she does, everyone that Derek’s talked to in the past two weeks apparently is in this pack — and smiles sweetly at Cora and Derek. “Welcome home, Stiles. Where are Danny and Draco?” There’s someone named Draco in Stiles’ pack and that will take some time to get used too. 

“Garage.” Stiles says, waving a hand. He turns to Derek and Cora. “This is so fucking unprofessional and I’m sorry. Give me ten minutes.” 

“Lunch is done,” Jackson says, coming inside with a large plate piled with hamburger patties. “Emissary is needed to start the meal.” 

Stiles clenches his jaw and growls under his breath before stomping down the hallway and slamming a door behind him. 

Cora steps closer to Derek and giggles. 

The Alpha — Scott — grins at her. “You guys caught us at a weird time.” 

“No, we’re all normal,” Jackson says, setting the burgers down. “It’s Stiles that’s having a moment.” 

“Drop it, Jackson,” Lydia says. “Stop pushing his buttons.” 

“Stiles was out of cell service until a few hours ago, so he didn’t really know that we introduced ourselves,” Scott explains, grinning. “He should be pissed at me, but...you know,” Alpha. He shrugs. “So Jackson it is.” 

Stiles comes out of a room and goes across the hall and slams another door behind him. 

“I promise he just needs like, five more minutes,” Scott says, nodding seriously. “He’ll be good.” 

“I mean, he’s never ‘good’,” Jackson says, loud enough for Stiles to hear in the bathroom. 

“Fuck off!” Stiles yells from the bathroom, slamming a drawer. 

Derek hears a shower start. 

Scott’s frowning at the door and then glaring at Jackson. 

The guy that had peeked down the hallway earlier comes into the kitchen. “I wasn’t even in here and I can read the room better than you can, Jackson.”

Scott nods. 

Jackson lifts his hands in surrender. “Comes in threatening to kill me and you’re on his side?”

“Stop playing victim,” The girl in the kitchen says. “It’s not a good look on you.”

Jackson looks irritated, but he says nothing. He pulls his phone out and pretends to be busy texting. 

Someone comes in from the same door as Stiles had before, followed by a black-coat retriever. The human immediately goes up to Jackson and kicks him in the shin, short and hard. Jackson yelps and flashes blue eyes at him, though it seems involuntary. “What the fuck was that, Danny?” The dog comes to stand in front of Derek and Cora and barks twice, short and sharp. Cora reaches a hand to let it sniff but it doesn’t move toward her. Draco, Derek assumes.

“I was in a car with him for four hours after your stupid text, that’s what,” He says, rolling his eyes. He turns to Derek and Cora and extends a hand. “Danny.” The dog barks at them again. 

“Technically supposed to wait for Stiles,” Lydia chimes from the fridge. “Good boy, Draco, we know.” The dog trots to the hallway and lays down in a heap in front of the bathroom door. 

Danny rolls his eyes and takes his hand back. “So, what, they just stand awkwardly in the kitchen til he’s back?”

The bathroom door opens and Stiles steps out and over the dog, who stands and walks beside him as Stiles is still toweling his hair dry. He’s in khaki’s and a t-shirt, and Derek has to tear his eyes away from the scar on his left arm. 

Stiles angles his arm toward himself, effectively hiding the scar. It seems like instinct more than a response to Derek and Cora’s presence. “Someone make Kira tap out,” he says, nodding at the girl at the island. She’s not looked up once since they arrived. 

Scott snaps his fingers in front of the computer. She glares at his hand, but still stops typing and pulls the headphones off. She looks surprised to see Derek and Cora and blushes. By her scent, she seems human, but Derek doubts their pack is made up of so many humans. 

“Alright, everyone’s here,” Stiles says, glancing around. “I, Stiles Stilinski, Emissary of the McCall pack, bring today the sole members of the Hale Pack from New York. Derek, born werewolf and Alpha, with his Second and younger sister, a born-werewolf, Cora. Is this correct?” He looks to Derek, who nods. “Alpha Hale, what is your reason for being on McCall territory?” 

Derek can’t remember how other packs worded this when he was growing up. It’d been years since a new pack was introduced and he feels the weight of his inexperience. “We’re seeking a new life for ourselves. We do not intend to grow our pack by force or bite. We do not intend to claim territory.” 

Stiles nods. “Alpha Hale, I bring you in front of the McCall Pack. Scott, bitten werewolf and Alpha.” Scott flashes red eyes, as is customary. “His second, a bitten werewolf-Kanima, Jackson.” He flashes blue eyes at Derek. Cora steps closer to him — neither of them know what a Kanima even is, and the blue eyes don’t help. “Also present today is Alpha McCall’s partner, Kira, Kitsune. Jackson’s partner, Lydia, banshee. Malia, born werecoyote. Isaac, bitten werewolf. Liam, bitten werewolf. Danny, human.” He takes a breath. “If we are all in agreement to act with civility, we will continue to the meal and alliance negotiations.” 

Derek and Cora nod. Scott nods, a dopey smile on his face.

Stiles nods once and practically collapses onto a bar stool. “Welcome to the Firehouse, guys.” He says, waving a hand. “You’re welcome pretty much whenever. We have an extra room if needed.” Whatever professional version of himself was here is gone, apparently. The dog is bumping his nose into Stiles’ knee, and Stiles ignores it completely. 

“Uh, thank you,” Derek says, clearing his throat. 

“Alphas serve up first,” Stiles says, glaring at where Jackson has a plate with two hamburger buns open already. “Can we at least pretend to follow the rules?” 

“Oh, so when I want to eat lunch, it’s time to follow the rules, but when you spot a new Alpha at your coffee stand you get to ignore it for a week and a half?” 

Stiles knew? 

“Suck a dick,” Stiles says, pushing up from the counter. The dog moves in a circle around Stiles’ legs and bumps his nose into Stiles’ palm. 

Cora giggles again, probably nervous energy more than anything. Derek bites back his own nervous smile, only because Stiles smells legitimately irritated. 

Jackson opens his mouth but Lydia snaps. “You’re done.” 

He sighs and closes his mouth, eyes on the dog. 

Stiles disappears back down the hallway and the dog follows, whining. 

Cora is watching quizzically now, too. 

“Seriously, Alpha’s first,” Lydia says, bumping her hip into Jackson’s. “I swear we are not this scattered usually. It’s been an interesting week.”

Scott nods his head toward the counter, so Derek moves to follow instructions. Lydia moves to stand next too Cora and asks her something about her sweater. 

 

Derek’s scooping potato salad onto his plate while Scott talks about how they bought the firehouse earlier this summer and have been trying to make it home ever since when Stiles comes back. The dog is with him still, but way less focused on him than he was before. Stiles falls into the line of people getting food without a word. 

“How was the trip, man?” Scott asks, all but interrupting himself.

Stiles shrugs. “Could’ve been better.” He smells and looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes worse now than they had been a few days ago. 

“Where’d you go out of cell service?” Cora asks, and Derek glares at her even though she’s not paying attention — it’s not their business.

“Umpqua National Forest,” Danny answers. 

“We were thinking of taking a weekend trip soon,” Cora says, which is true. “We heard it’s great.”

“It’s beautiful,” Lydia says. “We go on full moon’s during the summer. You could join us.”

They’re almost all done getting food, and Stiles is directing people to their spots at the large table. “We can keep it casual and get to know each other,” Scott says. “We’ll talk more seriously about everything when there isn’t food in our mouths.”

“Cool, so…what’s a Kanima?” Cora asks. Derek’s glad she did, but the transition is awkward. 

“A glorified salamander,” Stiles says, and Jackson growls. 

Lydia rolls her eyes. “Boys, please.” She gives a pointed look at Jackson.

“Half reptile.” Stiles says, sitting down at the table. “There’s a tail and poisonous venom. It’s all fun.”

Cora’s eyes are wide. “You said he was bitten…by what?”

“The same jackass that got most of the rest of us,” Isaac answers. “Long story.”

“Huh,” Cora says, looking closely at Jackson. “Interesting.”

“Where is that werewolf now?” Derek asks, trying to keep his voice neutral in order to not sound like he’s too curious.

“Gone.” Jackson says. “Long story.”

Derek swallows and nods.

Scott looks conflicted. “This sounds worse than it was,” He starts, and Stiles chokes back a laugh. “Fine, it was pretty bad. But no one really wants to go over pack histories…” He looks between Derek and Cora. “Not now, anyway.”

“Speaking of…” Cora says. “You knew we were from New York. How?”

“We have contacts across the country,” Stiles says. “It’s complicated. But as soon as you’d left your house there and declared you were headed this direction, we knew.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “Do you know where every pack is?”

Stiles waves a hand. “More or less. Working on it.”

Cora smells anxious.

“It’s not for malicious reasons,” Scott pipes up. “You guys were here unbothered for weeks before we arranged this. The same goes for pretty much every other supernatural creature that comes through here.”

“You don’t trust other packs?” Cora asks, voice quiet.

Jackson laughs a little. Lydia elbows him. 

“We doing this now?” Stiles says, sighing. He sets his half-eaten hamburger down. “I’d like it said that I was literally up all night after an already exhausting week, so I wasn’t psyched about doing this today. But fine, let’s do it.”

Derek’s not sure what to say, so he just sets his burger down too. 

“Scott’s a True Alpha.” Stiles says, waving a hand. Derek’s heard of them, but never knew anyone that knew of one, let alone met one personally. He has to resist the urge to seem surprised. “Before the wolf that bit him…was out of the picture, Scott had already presented as such and our pack was separated from him.”

“It brings a lot of attention,” Lydia says. “We keep tabs on known packs and migration of other supernaturals purely as precaution.”

“Other Supernaturals…” Cora says. “Like, what?”

“You name it,” Stiles says. He sighs. “Without going too far into details of pack history, you should know that I…” He pauses, considering. 

“He’s powerful as fuck,” Malia says, sounding bored. 

Stiles rolls his eyes at it, but doesn’t deny it.

“Magic,” Derek says. He remembers the alley and how Stiles’ nose had been bleeding. His answer about the weather had seemed like a lie, but he couldn’t hear it on him — now he knows it’s probably because he has practice lying to supernatural creatures. 

Stiles nods. 

“Our old Emissary did some magic,” Cora says. “I always wanted to learn but she said it wasn’t something you learn.”

Stiles nods. “You need a spark.”

“Is there danger here now?” Derek asks.

The silence from Scott’s entire pack is enough to answer entirely, even if it only lasts a few seconds.

“Nothing you need to be worried about,” Scott says, clearing his throat. “We didn’t approach you because we recognize that you’re trying to restart. We aren’t interested in forcing an alliance that would put you in any danger.”

“But there is danger.” Cora says.

“For us, yes.” Scott says. “But you have no responsibility for it, and that danger has no pressing effect on you.”

“What is happening?” Derek asks, staring at Stiles.

“Heard of the Alpha pack?” Jackson says, too casually for what he’s asking. “They have a special interest in Scott.” Derek has heard of the Alpha Pack — or at least, the idea of one — it’s like the boogeyman to little werewolf kids. 

“And there’s a kelpie infestation in the Sacramento River by Turtle Bay in Redding, but that’s a different issue entirely.” Stiles says, waving a hand. “And honestly, they’re all getting prematurely worried about this Alpha pack shit. They haven’t even left Idaho.”

“But you think they will,” Cora says, picking apart a chip.

“They’ve never spent time in the pacific northwest without visiting in some form,” Scott says.

“First time for everything,” Stiles says. 

Scott nods. “Stiles is choosing to be optimistic.”

“Cause you guys said the realistic Stiles was too depressing,” He mutters, pushing back from the table. The dog follows him. “Who wants a beer?”

He brings two six packs back to the table with him, one with duct tape over it that says “SHAPE SHIFTERS” and the other with tape that says “HUMANS”. Stiles motions to them. “Follow directions accordingly.”

Scott takes a bottle from the SHAPE SHIFTERS one and uses an extended claw to flip the cap. “Danny and Stiles made it, and Stiles won’t admit it, but he’ll be offended if you don’t take one and try it.” Stiles makes a sound.

“Wolfsbane?” Derek asks, reaching for one. Stiles nods and holds a beer from the HUMAN carton toward Isaac, who pops the cap off and reaches for a beer for himself. 

“Our parents brewed,” Cora says, taking one too. “I never got to try it before…”

“Stiles and I have only been brewing our own for a few months,” Danny says, leaving no time for Cora’s statement to sit. Derek appreciates it. “Still working out the kinks, but this batch has been pre-approved, so it’s safe to try.”

“How old are you?” Cora asks, and Derek is glad for it. The beer is surprisingly good and it makes his heart ache for his parents in a way he didn’t expect. He’d only drank their brew once, when he stole it from the fridge in the garage in order to get drunk with his friends in the woods one night. He’d gotten extremely hungover and also grounded. 

“Liam’s twenty,” Scott says. “Malia’s twenty-two. The rest of us are twenty-three.” So his assumption that they were mostly Cora’s age is right. 

“Do you all go to BVU?” Cora asks. “I haven’t seen you around, but I saw Liam on TopHat.”

“Kira, Stiles and Lydia graduated last year,” Scott says. “Lydia’s going back for another major. Isaac works as a grounds and maintenance guy for BVU. Jackson’s a police officer. Danny has been working remotely for a company since high school. Malia is taking classes online. I have two more years of Vet school, but I’ve been working as an assistant since high school. ”

“You’re a professor, right?” Danny asks, before Derek can respond. “English?”

Derek nods. “Three courses this semester. Do you all work, then?”

“Liam and Malia don’t,” Scott says. “School is top priority for them. But the rest of us, yeah. We all pool a portion of our paychecks to support those two and the bills.” Which is what Derek was actually curious about — pack funds have always been a sore spot for many, the idea of pooling all money seems especially unsafe to humans and bitten werewolves, so it’s kind of nice to see a pack of mostly bittens that follow the tradition of truly communal living. 

“Dark Moon is hiring, if you know of anyone who likes early mornings and hates country.” Stiles says, finishing his beer.

“And can work under you,” Jackson mutters.

“I bring in more money than you do, fucker, so watch it,” Stiles says, but there’s no heat behind it. Still, Derek’s surprised — a barista making more than a police officer is…interesting.

“Are you like, a manager or something?” Cora asks, looking between Jackson and Stiles. 

Stiles smiles a little. “Dark Moon is all mine, baby.”

Derek’s surprised and he knows it shows on his face.

“No way? Both locations?” Cora asks, and Derek hadn’t even known that there was a second location.

Stiles nods. “The one on West is new this year, but it’s already bringing in a profit, so that’s promising.” 

“Do you plan on more?” Derek asks.

Stiles shakes his head and shrugs, “Not really. The West location was an experiment, and I’m thrilled to see it working out, but I barely have time to run two stands and I’m not at a place where I’d franchise.” 

“Stiles also runs a supernatural consulting business,” Lydia adds, casually.

He’s full of surprises, apparently. “What does that entail?” Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs a little and stands, bringing his plate into the kitchen. He gives Draco an entire hamburger patty. “Little bit of this, little bit of that.”

“He’s powerful as fuck,” Malia says again.

Stiles huffs a laugh. “We should probably talk business. I wanted to be sleeping two hours ago, but this shit is more important.”

Derek nods and stands too, taking his and Cora’s plate into the kitchen too. 

“We should go to the office, just the five of us,” Stiles says, motioning with his chin toward the hallway they’d first come down. 

Scott drops his plate into the sink and says he’ll be right back, disappearing down the hallway where Derek assumes bedrooms are.

Draco comes between Stiles and Derek and nuzzles his head into Stiles’ hip. Stiles rubs his head, says “Got it, buddy, thank you.” He opens a cabinet and pops a cap off a pill bottle, takes two and then puts it back.

Draco is a service dog, Derek’s mind supplies. Stiles sees him make the realization and smells embarrassed, which confuses Derek. Stiles motions for Cora and Derek to follow him. 

Inside the office, he whistles and says “Draco, bed,” and Draco moves quickly to the corner and lays down. “I’ll say this only once,” Stiles says, eyes on Draco. “I have a dog for anxiety related reasons. That does not make me any less powerful than how Malia repeatedly made me sound, and this pack is my life. Anything that stands in the way of that is in danger of seeing that power.”

Derek nods quickly. “We understand.”

“There was no judgement about Draco,” Cora says quietly as Jackson and Scott come into the room. 

“His ears are lopsided,” Scott says. “So there should be some judgement.”

Stiles grins. “Your jaw is lopsided, buddy, fuck off.”

Scott laughs and bumps his fist into Stiles’ shoulder and takes a seat at the head of the table. 

Jackson sits at his right, and Stiles sits beside him. Derek takes a seat on Scott’s left and pulls the chair out next to him for Cora.

“I’m gonna run through some shit real quick,” Stiles says, pulling his phone out. He scrolls through a page of notes while he talks. “I’d love for this to be more professional, and like, the way it should be traditionally, and I apologize, but I seriously am like, ten minutes from passing out here, so all tradition is out the window. You good with that, man?” He’s looking at Derek. 

Derek smiles a little and nods. “Yeah, sure. We, uh, don’t really know much about the tradition, anyway.”

“Cool, sweet, cool,” Stiles says, drumming his hand on the table while staring at his phone again. “So, key points would be just like, if you bite anyone without coming to us first, you’re at the mercy of our decisions, if you reveal your supernatural status to anyone and there are repercussions, you are at the mercy of our decisions, if you injure, kill, or otherwise reveal yourself, you are at the mercy of our decisions. We do not want to rule over your life or force you to live within our pack rules, but this is Alpha McCall’s territory, and any threat to it’s harmonious existence is cause for us to step in and deal accordingly.”

Derek nods. It sounds harsh, but it’s expected.

“You gotta vocally agree,” Stiles says, “Tall, dark and mysterious looks great on you, but this is serious now, dude.”

Derek grins a little — being called dude while being told something is serious is slightly amusing. “Yes, sorry. We agree to these conditions entirely and have no plans to pose a threat to your territory or rhythms.”

“Sweet, thanks, man.” He drums his fingers more. “Uh, obviously, we talked a little about the Alpha Pack and I mentioned the Kelpies in the river. We are willing to alert you of any and all threats as long as you agree to alert us of any and all possible threats or suspicious acts you witness.”

“Of course.” Derek says quickly. 

“This is where it gets awkward,” Stiles says, halfway under his breath. “We need to go over some issues and we need full honesty. No hostility or grudges held on our side of things, man.”

Derek’s not sure what that means, but he nods anyway. Cora scoots closer. 

“Uh, okay, so, the former Hale Pack was upwards of twelve members large. We heard of the fire and subsequent attacks on the pack. We need to know if there are any other living members of the pack.”

“No.” Derek says, swallowing. “Just Cora and I.”

“When were you last in contact with Peter Hale?” Stiles asks, not looking up.

“Peter?” Cora asks, surprised. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“Answer the question.” Jackson hisses, surprising them both.

“Uh, several years ago,” Derek says. “I killed him.”

Jackson huffs. Annoyance is coming off him in waves.

“Cut your shit, Whittemore,” Stiles says. “You killed him how?”

Derek lifts a hand lamely. “Claws to the throat. What does this have to do with anything? Peter killed our sister. He was hell bent on revenge and was going to get us all killed. He needed to be stopped. I didn’t want the Alpha title, and would have rathered I not had to take it from him.”

“Can you confirm the date you killed him?”

“I don’t have proof, if that’s what you mean,” Derek says, confused.

“Just a general date is fine, man,” Stiles says, and Jackson seems more and more agitated as the seconds pass. 

“Mid September of 2011.” Cora says. “I had just started sophomore year.”

Derek waves a hand in her direction. “There you go.”

Jackson huffs again and Scott kicks him under the table.

“Thank you,” Stiles says, ignoring Jackson. “When you sliced his throat, the alpha title was transferred to you and you did what with his body?”

“I left it in the woods.” Derek says through clenched teeth. He’s never talked about this with Cora and it makes him feel guilty. She scoots her chair closer to him, trying to show she’s not angry, he thinks. 

“You said Peter was hell bent on revenge. Can you tell us who he might have been trying to seek revenge on specifically?”

“Kate Argent.” Derek says through his teeth again. 

Cora narrows her eyes. “Who?”

Stiles looks between Derek and Cora for a second, and hums. “Okay.”

“Who is that, Derek?” Cora says, twisting her chair to face him.

“She set the fire.” He says, through gritted teeth. 

“How do you know? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Derek exhales and stares at the table. “Later, Cora.”

She crosses her arms and smells sad, but she doesn’t fight it. Derek tries to fight back the guilt. He reminds himself of how he’s always tried to protect Cora. Is this different?

“Has Kate made any contact with either of you since the fire?” Stiles asks, voice quiet.

“No.”

“And was anyone ever charged with the crime?”

“No.”Cora answers this time, but her eyes are on Derek, like she’s daring him to disagree with her. He doesn’t. 

“And you’ve had no indication of any type, through pack bond instincts or any other than that, that Peter may have survived your attack?”

“No.” Derek resits the urge to stand and leave. “The Alpha role was transferred immediately.”

“Is our uncle alive?” Cora asks, voice quiet. 

Draco stands from his bed and walks to Stiles’ side. He jumps up and puts his paws on the armrest of Stiles’ chair and bumps his nose into Stiles’ ear. “Peter Hale is the Alpha that bit Scott. Late September of 2011,” Stiles says. “Lives in Vancouver now. Washington, not Canada.” He moves his head until his cheek is resting onto of Draco’s head. 

“And me, and Isaac, and two others.” Jackson says, bitter.

Derek’s not sure what they expect him to say. He feels like everything is too small in this room. He opens and closes his mouth twice before clenching his jaw. Cora is silent beside him, but she just smells confused.

“We believe you,” Scott says, after a few seconds. “We just still needed to ask.”

Jackson scoffs. “It just seems a little suspicious that you wouldn’t know.”

Derek growls and flashes red eyes, almost involuntarily. 

Jackson stands and flashes eyes back. Derek stands too, shifting immediately. It’s instinct more than anything, but Derek still lets it take control. 

Jackson’s about to make the first move when he stops sharply and curses. “Fucking Stilinski,” He yells, turning to glare at Stiles.

“Sit down, Derek.” Stiles says through clenched teeth. He’s standing now, too, and Draco is walking circles around his legs. For as calm as Stiles looks, the only scent coming off him is anxiety.

Derek does as he’s told once he sees that Jackson’s standing in a ring of mountain ash and won’t attack him while he’s at a disadvantage. He’s not sure where it came from, but can only assume Stiles somehow conjured it up from nowhere — powerful as fuck.

“I’m lifting the ring and you’re either getting the hell out or sitting down,” Stiles says. “You said you could handle this, so handle it.”

Jackson growls. 

“He’s right,” Scott says, still sitting calmly. “Rein it in or go for a run.” 

Stiles waves his hand and the ring breaks. Jackson leaves, slamming the door behind him. 

Stiles takes a breath and sits down. “Jackson is usually more stable. I get that we just threw a curveball at you. I’ll give you everything we have on Peter, if you want it. We have a few more questions and then you’re free to go.”

Derek nods. He just wants to go home with Cora and process all of this. 

Stiles waves a hand at Scott and leans back, pulling Draco’s paws onto his chest. 

Derek can smell the anxiety rolling off Stiles in waves still. It’s distracting as it is, but his inner wolf is pushing him to comfort him which he does’t have time to process, so he tries to shove it back.

Scott swallows and looks away from Stiles. Derek can smell his frustration, but he doesn’t think it’s aimed at Stiles. “Do you need to go, man?” He says after a second, turning back to Stiles.

“I’m fine,” He says, eyes only on the dog. 

Scott nods and sighs. “Sorry, Derek, Cora. It’s been a rough week here — I could go into it, but…” He glances at Stiles, who doesn’t seem to notice. “Anyway. You don’t have to answer now. We just want to extend our offer for you to join our pack. Alliances are great, but they only get us all so far. A pack of two is weak and we have heard that you’re both resilient and level headed. You’re free to consider this for as long as you’d like and you don’t need to worry about our thoughts on it.” 

Derek’s surprised by the offer. He can tell that Scott is telling the truth — he doesn’t expect an answer, and any choice they make will be respected. Draco barks, sharp and short. Scott stands immediately, but Stiles waves his hand. “I’m fine,” He says again, a little strained. He rubs behind the dogs ears. “Good boy.”

Scott looks conflicted, but he just exhales and looks at Derek. “No answer needed today. Not even soon. Offers on the table and we can answer any questions you might have.”

“I really hate to leave this party,” Stiles says before Derek can form a response. He stands. “I literally have been up for two days and if the dog isn’t making it obvious enough, there has not been enough Adderal consumed.” He salutes. “See you two around. Hopefully at Dark Moon again, at least?” He seems hopeful, and a little sad. 

Cora nods immediately. “Of course,” She promises. Derek’s glad she does.

He clasps his hand on Scott’s shoulder and squeezes as he walks past, and Scott squeezes his hand for a short few seconds before letting go and waiting for the door to shut behind Stiles to speak again.

“This did not go how it should have,” Scott says. “Stiles is a consultant, as Lydia said, and…things got rough with his last client. Everything’s taken care of now, but he hasn’t been sleeping. Add that in with the Alpha pack, the Kelpies, and running Dark Moon, being an Emissary…anyway, he’s busy. He’ll be pissed that this didn’t go well, and that’s on me. I got excited to meet you guys and jumped the gun. I should’ve waited until I knew he would be rested enough to do it his way.”

“Is he okay?” Derek finds himself asking.

Scott grins a little. “I mean, he will be. He always is.”

“We like him,” Cora says, voice quiet.

Scott nods. “Pretty much everyone does, trust me. You know, he used to be my Second? Before he really dove head first into the magic shit, he was my Second. Jackson’s not usually like that — I mean, he’s always kind of a dick, don’t get your hopes up — but he and Stiles have been going at it over some personal shit, and they haven’t really had time to work that out this week.” He shakes his head. “That’s a lot of information that I probably shouldn’t be giving. This is why I need Stiles, man.” He stands and stretches. “Anyway, like Stiles said earlier, you guys are welcome here anytime.”

Cora and Derek both stand. “We appreciate that.”

Scott opens the door. “Sorry, again.”

“Stiles said we could have what you guys have on Peter…” Derek says.

Scott nods quickly. “For sure, yeah, let me just…” He walks quicker down the hallway back toward the great room. “Hey, Danny, you have access to Stiles’ Peter shit?”

Danny shakes his head from his place at the kitchen bar. “Nah, that’s the stuff he keeps in his office.” 

Scott nods, like he expected that. He lifts his head slightly toward the other hallway and then deflates. Derek’s already zeroed in on Stiles’ heartbeat, his wolf finding it immediately whenever it’s in range. He’s sleeping. “I swear someone will bring it by as soon as he wakes up long enough to let one of us in there,” Scott says, sounding genuinely sorry. “Last time someone tried to get in his office without him, their skin glowed orange for like, four days.”

“I literally just needed my phone charger,” Malia grumbles from beneath a pile of blankets on the sectional. She has a tub of ice cream and has a movie that’s obviously a chick flick paused. 

Cora laughs and Derek fights back a smile. “We understand. I assume you have our address, so we’ll just…wait to hear from you.”

Scott doesn’t even look embarrassed about knowing where they live already. “I have your number, man. I’ll text you when we have it and you can let us know then to drop it by.” 

Derek nods. “That’d be great.” 

Scott walks them to the door and shakes both of their hands. “See you, guys. Soon, we hope.”

 

The drive all the way home is silent. Derek’s not sure if he’s glad for that. There’s a heaviness between him that only feels like guilt and it smells like strawberry perfume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to stick to a Tuesday & Friday posting schedule! Thanks for reading <3


	3. add a second light and you get a second darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> What can you know about a person? They shift  
> in the light. You can’t light up all sides at once. Add  
> a second light and you get a second darkness, it’s only  
> fair. He is looking at the wall and I am looking at his  
> looking. Difficult thing, to be scrutinized so long.  
> 

They go inside almost robotically and Cora goes straight to Derek’s room, pulling his comforter over herself almost completely. She may be irritated with him, but he’s still the only pack she has. His scent is still comforting to her and that’s enough to make Derek want to fix it. 

Derek sits next to her with his hand on her shoulder. 

“Why didn’t we feel it?” She whispers. “What’s he doing?” 

Derek doesn’t know, so he doesn’t answer. 

“He bit all those people…Jackson listed at least five. They’re not telling us something, right?” 

Derek doesn’t know, so he doesn’t answer. 

“Forget Peter, they’re not telling us something about Stiles. The Stiles today was so different than the Dark Moon Stiles.” 

Derek nods a little. 

“And Jackson was an asshole, but the rest of them seemed nice.” 

She smells hopeful. 

“You want to join them?” Derek asks, his voice sounding tougher than he expected. 

She flinches a little. “Not because of anything wrong with you, Derek. But this isn’t...”

It’s not enough. He knows. 

“Say something.” She begs.

“I never wanted to be an alpha.” 

“But you don’t want to let it go now?” 

That’s not it, but there’s something tight in his chest when he tries to work out what’s really wrong, so he says nothing. 

“What do we do about Peter?” She asks instead. 

“We’ll make a plan when Scott gets us more information.” 

“Mom would forgive him, wouldn’t she?” Her voice is quiet. 

Derek’s not sure. “Mom’s not here, Cora. And what happened...we never imagined this. No one could have.” 

Cora smells sad. “I know.” 

It’s quiet between them for a few minutes.

“Will you tell me why you know who did it?” Her voice is even more quiet, almost scared. 

Derek feels himself closing in. He clenches his jaw and tries to fight back the way the guilt creeps up, hot like bile in his throat. “They’re a known hunter family. Huge, old-money and older practices. They’re strong and obviously have a deep-rooted hate for our kind. They were in New York causing problems. Peter confirmed it before…when I confronted him.” It’s not the complete truth. It’s not a lie. He feels guilty. Always so guilty. 

She nods. “Okay.” She knows there’s more, he can tell by the way her shoulders stay stiff and her breath is still caught in her throat. She’s hoping he’ll say more. He’s not sure he can. 

Derek feels trapped here. The room is too small, and their emotions have flooded it and made it smaller. The air feels old and sticky despite the window being open a little. 

He won’t leave, though. Not now. He’s left Cora too many times to leave now. 

So he sits, hand on her shoulder, and waits. 

They both fall asleep sometime in the late afternoon, and when Derek wakes up an hour later, Cora’s completely curled up in his bed, snoring quietly. 

He leaves the room, makes himself a peanut butter and honey sandwich and forces himself to eat it and then makes another one to leave on his bedside table for Cora when she wakes up. 

He paces the apartment for a while. He works out for an hour and then showers. Cora wakes up and brings the sandwich to the couch and turns on a Disney movie while she eats in silence. He sits next to her with his laptop and tries to find out more about Peter using google with no luck. He drums his fingers on the laptop and searches ’Scott McCall’ instead. There’s an article about him saving lives in an animal attack in Beacon Hills with too few details to really piece together the story there, but Derek’s pretty sure it wasn’t an animal attack. There’s an article from Beacon Hills’ local newspaper about him winning a lacrosse game for the high school team. Stiles is in the picture too, and then he’s abandoning his search on Scott to search Stiles instead. 

He scrolls opens several articles about Dark Moon into new tabs, but continues to scroll in hopes of finding something of worth.

OBITUARY, JONATHAN ELIAS STILINSKI — BEACON HILLS SHERIFF. 

Derek clicks it. 

_Funeral service for the late Jonathan E. Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski of Beacon Hills, California, will be held at 12 noon Saturday, September 26, 2015 at Beacon Hills Community Church, 3329 NE Radio Drive, Beacon Hills, CA. Private burial will follow at Beacon Hills Memorial Ground. Public viewing will be held on Saturday, September 26, 2015 from 8-11 am at Beacon Hills Community Church._

_John Stilinski was born on May 23, 1965 to the late Olivia Godwin and Elias K. Stilinski. He left his earthly life Monday, September 20, at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital._

_John Stilinski served as Beacon Hills Sheriff for nearly 10 years, and served in lower ranks for eighteen years prior. His career began in 1986 in Sacramento County, and Stilinski transferred to Los Angeles Police Department four years later when he met his wife, Claudia Gajos. The two married in 1992 and had a son three years later, Mieczysław “Stiles” Stilinski. The pair moved to Beacon Hills, California shortly after their son’s birth. Claudia passed away in 2004 from frontotemporal dementia. John was elected Sheriff only weeks after her death and burial and lead this community with strength and wisdom._

_Stilinski was highly decorated, including Police Medal for Heroism, Police Star, Police Life-Saving Medal and winning Investigator of The Year (California) in 2013. He received special ribbons in 1992 and 1994 for his service in Los Angeles during the 1992 riots and Northridge earthquake in 94. He held the Distinguished Expert marksmanship badge for twenty-two consecutive years._

_John Stilinski leaves behind his father, Elias K. Stilinski, and his son, Mieczysław “Stiles” Stilinski and a fiancé, Melissa McCall. Stiles is currently studying Criminal Justice at Beacon Valley University and will be present at all services. Melissa McCall is an ER nurse at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. They were set to wed in November._

_In lieu of flowers, donations should be made to the Junior Police Academy of Beacon County. There is also a college fund for Stiles and a memorial fund. All donations can be made through the Beacon Hills Police Department._

Scott’s mom? Derek clicks away and searches Sheriff John Stilinski instead. Google auto completes “death” at the end of his search. He feels guilty, but hits enter.

 

SHERIFF JOHN STILINSKI AMONG THOSE SHOT IN WAREHOUSE RAID

_On Friday, September 17th, BHPD executed a raid on a warehouse suspected of being used for human trafficking. Upon entering the warehouse, the team was fired upon by two suspects. Five officers were injured, including Sheriff John Stilinski. The suspects, named by BHPD after the attack as Carlos Tullijo and Ennis Boores, were both injured but fled. There is a nation-wide warrant out of their arrests. If seen, you should not engage. Immediately call 911. Pictures below._

_Four of the officers injured, Sheriff’s Deputy Jordan Parrish, Deputy Braeden Grey, Deputy Vanessa Yearly, and Deputy Jacob Johnson were released from the hospital early Saturday morning. They have all been placed on paid leave according to Cheryl Morris, spokeswoman for BHPD. Sheriff John Stilinski has undergone four surgeries and is expected to need several more. He is currently in critical condition._

_Little information on the raid is available at this time. Sources say that no victims were found in the warehouse, but FBI and BHPD have blocked off all streets to the area and there has been significant presence there since the raid._

_*This story has been updated on Monday, September 20th. Click here to read._

Derek clicks.

_Following a raid on a warehouse in old town, Beacon Hills, where the BHPD team was caught in an ambush with two suspects, Sheriff John Stilinski has died._

_Sheriff Stilinski passed away during surgery early Monday morning. His son, Stiles Stilinski, made the announcement to the press team outside the hospital at 6:24am and subsequently asked all press to leave the hospital and give them privacy._

_Cheryl Morris, spokeswoman for Beacon Hills Police Department, released a statement two hours later. Red below._

**MEDIA RELEASE: BEACON HILLS POLICE DEPARTMENT  
** **Incident: SHERIFF JOHN STILINSKI  
** **Location: BEACON HILLS MEMORIAL HOSPITAL  
** **Case Number: xxx  
** **Date/Time: September 20, 2015 @ 8:30 a.m.  
** **More Information: Cheryl Morris, BHPD Spokeswoman 530-555-8763 ext. *713  
** **Completed By: Cheryl Morris**

**On September 17th, 2015 Sheriff John Stilinski led the charge into a warehouse on Waterfront street in old town, Beacon Hills. Upon entering the warehouse, two suspects fired upon the team. The team took cover in various positions. Four deputies and Sheriff Stilinski were shot. Sheriff Stilinski moved from his place of cover in order to pull an injured deputy to cover and took further gunfire.**

****

**This morning, on September 20th, at 5:43am, John Stilinski succumbed to his injuries while in surgery to repair an internal tear. Doctors tried to revive Sheriff Stilinski for fifteen minutes before declaring him officially at 5:58am.**

****Services will be held and open to the public. Information to follow. We ask that all media requests come to the BHPD directly and that Stiles Stilinski and Melissa McCall be left to grieve in private.****

 

_Melissa McCall and Stiles Stilinski have not returned our requests for comment._

“Shit.” Cora says beside him. He jumps a little and then exhales. He hadn’t noticed her pause her movie and sit closer. “Is that Scott’s mom?”

Derek shrugs. “I don’t know, I think so.” He searches her name instead. There’s an engagement announcement from the local newspaper. Stiles and Scott are in the photo too. “Guess so.”

He clicks back to the tab with articles about Stiles. Nothing left seems worth reading after that information, and everything feels heavy between them. 

“Did you find anything else about the others?”

Derek shrugs. “Vague article about Scott helping save people in an animal attack, but…there’s not much there to go off of.”

“Peter?”

Derek shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“I could feel your wolf reacting to Stiles,” She says, quietly. “I didn’t notice before, but…in the office, when he was nervous, I could feel the stretch.” He’s never been able to explain the way his wolf feels like Cora does and he envies her. When he killed — or thought he killed — Peter, he felt the pack bond snap between them. Was that all he’d accomplished? Kicking Peter from their pack?

Derek nods.

“Is it…is it like, a mate thing?” Her voice is barely audible.

“I don’t know,” He says honestly. “Mom and dad always just said we’d know. I don’t know.” When their pack was larger, Derek was more in-tune with his wolf. He could feel all of it deep within himself, every bond was tight and strong. Now, with just Cora connected to him, something feels like it’s missing. He can feel when she’s deeply emotional about something but he doesn’t notice the smaller things like he used too. He wonders if that’s ever going to come back or if that part of him died in the fire. 

She huffs. “I really like them, Derek.”

“I know.” He says. “Me, too.”

He shuts his laptop and paces again. Cora pushes play on her movie again and pulls the blanket off the back of the couch to wrap herself in. “You can go,” She says, not looking away from the TV. “I know you need to run.”

He shakes his head and gets out papers from class to look over instead. He’s left too many times, he reminds himself. He’s not leaving now. 

 

He holds off until four in the morning. Cora’s asleep in her own bed, and has been for hours, but he can’t sleep. It’s not new, really, and he can’t really blame the events of the day entirely, but he still needs to run and feel the burn of his lungs and ache in muscles to relax. 

He leaves a note on the kitchen counter and goes. 

 

He’s run four miles when his wolf starts leading him instead. He follows the instinct before he really even notices that he’s doing it. He ends up back outside the diner — apparently open 24 hours — and is immediately aware that Stiles is inside. Draco is laying at his feet, wearing a vest that says “WORKING DOG. Please Do Not Pet”.

He walks inside without really coming up with a plan. Draco perks up when he enters, wagging his tail.

Stiles doesn’t look surprised to see him when Derek sits down across from him at the booth in the corner, which Derek isn’t sure is the work of Draco or Stiles’ own intuition. How powerful is “powerful as fuck” really?

“Hey,” Stiles says, barely looking up from his computer. He has the same notebooks and tablet spread across the table as he did last time, but this time he doesn’t hide any from view. The one he’d closed last week is in latin, Derek thinks, but it has a very detailed drawing of a vampires fangs on it. “Give me one second.” He starts typing. 

Derek nods a little and looks at all that’s in front of Stiles again. What he had thought was accounting homework before is obviously from Dark Moon, expenses and paychecks very neatly organized along with profits, right down to how much each drink is bringing in weekly. 

Stiles closes the laptop after another minute and scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry, consulting shit,” He says stretching. He scans the table and picks up a small flash drive. He tosses it to Derek. “Peter stuff,” he says, nodding at it. 

Derek isn’t sure why he’d been expecting actual files. This does make more sense. “Thank you,” he says, clearing his throat.

“I was going to text you in the morning,” Stiles says. “Didn’t want to wake you up, but clearly that isn’t an issue.”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Stiles grins a little. “Probably, but I had an appointment,” He motions to the laptop. “Not really the type of job that clients appreciate a raincheck with.”

“You weren’t really clear what type of job it is at all,” Derek points out.

Stiles huffs a laugh. “Yeah, guess not.”

And it’ll stay that way, apparently. “Why do it here instead of the firehouse?”

“The firehouse doesn’t have an endless supply of greasy foods for me to consume.” He motions to a basket of half eaten fries. “Owner and employees get free coffee at Dark Moon and I get free food here.”

Derek wonders how fair of a trade that is.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Stiles says. “How can one man eat enough food at a diner to make allowing fifteen people to have free rein at his coffee stand worth it?”

Derek laughs a little. “Yes, actually.”

“Well, not to brag, but last month I actually got away with more free food here than they did at the stand, so.” He throws his hands up a little. “Be impressed, Derek Hale.”

“I feel like someone should be encouraging you to make a deal with somewhere a little less greasy,” Derek says, but he takes a fry when Stiles shoves the basket toward him. 

“Oh, believe me, Lydia is. Daily. Though, I’m pretty sure that’s just because she wants to benefit from that since she pretends to be far above this shit.” Stiles dips a fry in some sort of fry sauce and eats it. “Plus, I wasn’t joking when I said I run daily, man. When it slows me down, I’ll stop. But until then, I am not going a day without some sort of fried food. Life’s too short.”

Derek remembers Stiles’ dad dying before 50. He remembers his own parents dying before seeing any of their kids marry or have kids. He takes a fry and dips it in the fry sauce too. “Amen to that.”

“Scott apologized for Jackson, I hope.” He says after a few seconds of silence.

Derek nods.

“I should apologize too. Jackson and I got in a stupid fight earlier this week. We both just…we always seem to just piss each other off until there’s this huge blowup and then we forget about it. It’s stupid. It’s embarrassing that it happened in front of you guys.”

“Scott kind of mentioned as much,” Derek admits.

Stiles laughs a little. “My dad died four years ago, my sophomore year at BVU. I had just declared my major to be Criminal Justice, and he was so proud. He proposed to Scott’s mom, after years of pining and then…my dad died, and it sucked. You know, man. Better than anyone else, I’m sure.” He shrugs. Derek’s surprised that he speaks so easily. “Anyway, literally on the anniversary of my dad dying, Jackson makes some stupid-ass remark about wishing his parents were dead,” Stiles waves a hand. “It pissed me off. Jackson’s parents are assholes, and they make his life hell sometimes, but…you know, it still pissed me off. Jackson’s too much of an asshole himself to admit that he’s wrong, and I’m going through too much shit right now to just let something like that go.”

Derek realizes for the first time that the anniversary Stiles is talking about would have been on the day he first ran into Stiles at the diner. 

Stiles shakes his head before Derek can say anything. “Sorry, that’s way too much information. I haven’t slept enough for normal human interaction, man.” He laughs a bit and closes the Vampire notebook. 

“I like hearing you talk,” Derek says, and even though it’s true, he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Stiles laughs a little. “Said no one ever.” He rubs his hand over his face again. “Seriously, you’ll regret saying that.”

Derek shrugs. “We’ll see about that.”

Stiles grins. “So I take it our shit-show yesterday didn’t totally scare you two away, then.”

Derek shakes his head. “No.”

“And…”

Derek huffs a laugh. “Cora seems interested in Scott’s offer.”

Stiles smells hopeful but keeps his face relaxed. “And you?”

Derek considers his words. 

“At risk of showing my hand too early,” Stiles says, leaning back a little, “I should say that the magic shit kind of…connects me to people. I’ve always read people well, but it helps.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “What does the magic tell you, then?”

Stiles looks hesitant. “If your reluctance to join our pack is contingent only on your fear of ruining our pack, cut your shit and jump in. If you have a legitimate reason, one worth anything, then fine. No questions asked.”

Derek deflates. 

“I’m not going to sit here and say, hey, your pack history wasn’t shit,” Stiles says, eyes focused on the french notebook. “But I have a damn therapy dog because of what ours did to me, and I’m one of the most powerful mages in the country. So I’m just saying…your ‘curse’ or whatever you think you bring isn’t going to bring down our pack.”

“I failed to kill Peter and he apparently ran off and created your pack,” Derek says. “So it could be argued that your pack history only began after I started destroying mine.”

Stiles seems to consider this. “Peter bit seven people. Two didn’t even survive the bite. Within six months, Scott had proved himself to be a True Alpha and Peter was mostly out of the picture. Most everything after that was our own shit, not Peter’s. I mean, Lydia was always going to be a banshee. Malia was a werecoyote from birth and Kira a kitsune. They just lucked out that they knew us when it counted.”

“When’s the last time you had contact with Peter?” Derek asks, eyes on the flash drive. 

“Full disclosure? Like, a month ago. Scott doesn’t know about that, so…let’s keep that between us. Before that, it’d been almost two years.”

“What happened a month ago?”

“Word came through that you were headed this way. Rumors also came my way that Peter had plans to join up with you.” Stiles hesitates a little, sighing. “I visited Vancouver. We had a little talk. He stayed put.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “You threatened him? To…stay away from us?”

Stiles head goes back and forth, like he’s considering the question. “More or less. Peter creates shit everywhere he goes. At least in Vancouver he’s another packs problem.”

Derek isn’t sure how he feels about that. “Do you know what he wanted?”

“From us? Power. Revenge, like you said. From you guys? Just his family back.” He shrugs. “Or so he says. Thats up to you to decide, though.”

“Would you have told me?”

Stiles’ eyebrows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“If Scott and Jackson hadn’t approached me when I was running, would you have ever told me all this?”

Stiles looks offended for half a second. “Of course, dude. Of course.” He motions at the stuff around him. “This month has been insane, and I needed to go to Umpqua to get some shit done and I knew I’d be exhausted. I planned to talk to you no later than next week.”

Derek believes him. “Can I ask you some questions?”

Stiles nods. 

“What were you doing in Oregon? It seems serious.”

Stiles nods again, rubbing his neck. “It sounds crazy, dude…” He eats a fry. “You ever heard of a Nemeton?”

Derek shakes his head.

Stiles considers this for a second than nods. “It’s basically this powerful as fuck tree. There’s seven of them that we know of, but there’s rumors of a few others hidden. I’m working on it.”

“So it’s in Oregon?”

“Oh, shit, no,” Stiles says, shaking his head. “I forgot the question. It’s in Beacon Hills. Probably why Peter came there to try to build his revenge pack…the stupid thing acts as beacon to supernatural creatures. It’s the bane of my existence and also the love of my life.” He waves a hand. “There’s another tree in Umpqua national forest that has some spark of magic and I’ve been going there to investigate.”

“Another Nemeton?”

“Fuck no,” Stiles says. “But any magic tree is worth my time, I don’t discriminate.”

“And this is all done in the middle of the night?”

“Well, technically I start at sundown, but yeah. It takes all night.”

“What exactly is happening?”

Stiles gets a mischievous look in his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

It seems like a polite way of saying he doesn’t want to share, so Derek doesn’t push it. “You guys said the alpha pack doesn’t come this way without making their presence known in one form or another…”

Stiles nods, hands drumming on the table. Draco stands beneath the table. Derek can smell the anxiety. Stiles opens his mouth and then closes it again.

“Sorry, I didn’t — you don’t have to say anything you don’t want too.” Derek can feel Draco moving beneath them. 

Stiles clenches his jaw and his eyes go darker. “I’m fine.”

Derek nods. 

“The Alpha Pack should know better than to come back here.” 

“Okay.” Derek doesn’t want to push him.

“It’s been three years since they showed their faces. They left with half their pack dead.” Stiles says, voice quiet. “They’ve started to rebuild now. But they should know better.” He drums his hand on the table again. Draco whines. 

“If they come back, we want to help.” Derek says.

Stiles stares at him for a while. “Yeah, sure.”

“Tell me something?” Derek asks, voice quiet.

Stiles nods, eyes on Draco under the table.

“Are you okay?”

Stiles grins, but there’s darkness in his eyes that isn’t usually noticeable. “I’m fine, dude.”

It’s a lie. Stiles lives with werewolves, has been involved with them for years, runs an entire business that bases itself on interacting with supernatural creatures. He has to know how to lie to them. But he doesn’t even try. 

Derek isn’t sure what to do with that. 

“Okay.” Derek says, swallowing. 

“Okay.” Stiles says back. “Hey, listen, I gotta get going. There’s a supply shipment coming in for the West location in an hour and I need to sort through some shit in the shed to make sure there’s room for all of it. I’ll see you around, though, yeah?” He’s already piling the books and shoving things into a backpack.

“Of course,” Derek replies automatically, still thrown by the blatant lie. 

Stiles is gone quickly, Draco trailing happily behind. Derek stays in the booth for a few seconds before getting up and when he looks down at the table before standing, there’s a piece of paper with a number scrawled on it. “Text me whenever — stiles”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title & the poem are from Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light by Richard Siken. he's incredible and i highly recommend you check out his poetry, especially his book Crush! 
> 
> thanks for all the sweet comments & being willing to give this a try! Hope you're all still enjoying it.


	4. i am singing now while rome burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were in the gold room  
> where everyone finally gets what they want.  
> You said Tell me about your books, your visions made  
> of flesh and light and I said This is the Moon. This is  
> the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you  
> there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar  
> cube... We were in the gold room where everyone  
> finally gets what they want, so I said What do you  
> want, sweetheart? and you said Kiss me. Here I am  
> leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome  
> burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack,  
> my silent night, just mash your lips against me.  
> We are all going forward. None of us are going back.

Derek walks the few blocks back to their apartment slowly, hands hovering over a blank text to Scott. He has so many questions — about their pack, about the offer made, about Stiles — but no words to pose them.

Cora is sitting on the couch with a mug of tea when he opens the door, looking hopeful. 

“How was your run?” She asks, sitting up as he walks toward her. “Did you run into Stiles?”

He nods. “Can you smell him on me?” They hadn’t touched at all.

“Draco, actually,” Cora says. “Where was he?”

“That diner a few blocks away,” Derek says. He takes the flash drive from his pocket and grabs his computer. “Gave me everything on Peter.”

They sit in silence while he waits for the drive to load. Inside, there are five folders. TIMELINE. CONNECTIONS. CRIMES. WHEREABOUTS. PHOTOS. 

His phone buzzes and shows a text from Scott. 

** >> Stiles says to apologize on his behalf about the files? Says they’re not professional. **  
** >> These are just for his own records, we don’t give these out usually. He is embarrassed.**

Derek huffs a laugh, curious now. He puts his phone down without replying and looks back to the laptop. He and Cora stare at their options for several seconds. Cora points at the photos folder. “We could at least confirm it’s actually him,” She says, voice quiet. She smells hopeful. 

He only clicks on one of the six files. It’s Peter. He looks irritated in the photo, fangs showing and eyes blue, but otherwise human. Cora smells sad, now. 

Derek goes back to the main five folders and clicks TIMELINE instead. Cora doesn’t protest. 

December 14, 2004 - HALE FIRE  
January 6, 2005 — MOVED FROM HOSPITAL TO LONG TERM CARE  
2005-2008? — SINGLE BED ROOM  
Mid 2008/Early 2009 — MEREDITH WALKER BECOMES ROOMMATE  
Mid/mid-to-late 2011 — CONFRONTS AND KILLS LAURA  
Early September 2011 — ATTACKED BY NEWPHEW DEREK HALE. D. HALE INHERITS ALPHA STATUS, LEAVES PETER.  
Early September 2011 — KILLS LONG-TERM CARE NURSE JENNIFER CONNER  
Mid September 2011 — FLEES NEW YORK, DERANGED. WEAK BUT STILL AN ALPHA SOMEHOW BECAUSE FUCK THE RULES  
Early September 2011 — BITES HENRY SINCLAIR, LEAVES BODY IN WOODS  
Wolf Moon, September 2011 — BITES SCOTT. HENRY SINCLAIR BODY FOUND.  
September-October 3 — ATTACKS OF GARRISON MYERS, THOMAS PORTER, GARRET UNGER, TODDRICK REDDICK.  
October 4 — BITES HAILEY CREWS, LEAVES BODY IN WOODS  
October 6 — HAILEY CREWS BODY FOUND  
October 7— FIRST APPROACHES SCOTT IN HUMAN FORM  
October 8 — LACROSSE GAME APPEARANCE  
October 9 — VIDEO STORE ATTACK. LEVEQUE KILLED. SLASHES JACKSON’S NECK IN SOME SHOW OF POWER OR SOME SHIT?  
October 13 — ATTACKS ANIMAL CLINIC, NO VICTIMS. NO MOTIVE. WTF?  
October 20 — OFFERS STILES BITE  
October 31 — BITES LYDIA  
November 2 — SCOTT, STILES, LYDIA KILL PETER. January 6, 2012 — WORM MOON. IM BACK TO LIFE, MOTHERFUCKERS  
January 15 — BITES JACKSON. BITE REJECTED.  
January 16 — BITES ISAAC. KILLS BRADLEY LAHEY (DESERVED, HONESTLY)  
January 17 — BITES ERICA REYES  
January 18 — BITES VERNON BOYD  
January 20 — MALIA TATE-HALE REVEALS SELF TO MCCALL PACK  
January ?? — ATTEMPTS TO KILL KATE. FAILS.  
January 31 — GERARD KIDNAPS STILES. JACKSON TRANSFORMS. PETER CONVENIENTLY MISSING.  
February 10-14 — ISAAC, ERICA AND BOYD OFFICIALLY LEAVE PETER’S PACK.  
February 18 — ISAAC, ERICA AND BOYD OFFICIALLY JOIN “MCCALL PACK” (GROUP OF CONFUSED BETAS AND A HUMAN, HELL YEAH) PETER AGREES TO HELP  
February - Mid March — KANIMA SHIT. PETER LARGELY UNHELPFUL.  
March 17 — LYDIA SAVES JACKSON. KANIMA KILLED, JACKSON RESURRECTED. SCOTT ATTACKS GERARD, HE LIVES. PETER STANDS IN SHADOWS AND PRETENDS TO BE HELPFUL, IS NOT.  
March 17 — SCOTT ACCESSES TRUE ALPHA POTENTIAL, PETER SEES  
March 18 — PETER LEAVES  
March 19 — MALIA JOINS MCCALL PACK  
March 18 - June 16 — PETER GONE. NO KNOWN WHEREABOUTS  
June 17 — ISAAC FEELS PULL.  
June 19 — ERICA AND BOYD SPOT PETER.  
June 20 — PETER APOLOGIZES FOR LEAVING, NO EXPLANATION  
June 30 — ALPHA PACK ARRIVE.  
July 4 — OFFERS BITE TO STILES.  
July 17 — PETER LEAVES WITH ALPHA PACK, HELPS HIDE SCOTTS STATUS  
June 5, 2013 — PETER COMES BACK AND OFFERS NO EXPLANATION OF YEAR LONG ABSENCE. NO RECORD OF ALLIANCE TO ALPHA PACK. WARNS OF ALPHA PACK RETURNING FOR SCOTT  
June 21 — PETER HELPS FIGHT OFF ALPHA PACK.  
June 30 — PETER LEAVES BEACON HILLS UNDER ORDERS FROM MCCALL PACK.  
August 2013 — SEEN IN SOUTH AMERICA  
November 2013 — CALIFORNIA  
December 2013 — RUMORED TO BE IN CANADA  
January 2014 — SEEN IN NEW YORK  
February 2014 - 2016 — GREENLAND, ICELAND, SWEDEN. POSSIBLY SUDAN/EGYPT. SEEKING NEMETONS?  
January 2016 — APPROACHES STILES FOR NEMETON INFORMATION. OFFERS BITE. THROWN OUT OF BEACON HILLS.  
January 2016 - Present — VANCOUVER, WASHINGTON. PERIODIC UPDATES FROM ALPHA CHRISTOPHER FORD. MINOR ISSUES.

 

Derek and Cora are both silent, but Derek can tell that she’s a few lines behind him by her reactions. Derek knows he needs to tell Cora more about the fire, about Kate, about what he’s responsible for — but he stares at this list of Peter’s last several years and it all seems like too much. 

“Malia Tate-Hale,” Cora whispers when she reaches the end of the timeline. “What does that mean?”

Derek shakes his head. “I have no idea.”

“And why did he keep offering the bite to Stiles?”

Derek shakes his head again, feeling overwhelmed. He clicks back to the main files and clicks the CONNECTIONS folder. There’s two folders inside this one. ACQUAINTANCES. ENEMIES.

He clicks ACQUAINTANCES.

Malia Tate-Hale  
-Daughter to Peter Hale and Unknown Woman (Desert Wolf)  
-Adopted as an infant by Henry and Evelyn Tate  
-Found by Peter in the woods 2012  
-Briefly pack-members under Peter’s leadership  
-Now a member of the McCall Pack

Jane Doe (Desert Wolf)  
-Partner  
-Mother of Peter’s child  
-No known acquaintances or pack affiliation  
\- Last seen in 2016

Derek & Cora Hale  
\- Nephew and Niece (estranged)  
\- Unaware of his survival  
\- Last together in Sep 2011  
\- Currently reside in New York

DECEASED:  
Talia Hale (Sister, former Alpha)  
Samuel Hale (Brother-in-law)  
Laura Hale (Niece, former Alpha)  
Corrinne Hale (Wife)  
Lucy Hale (Daughter)  
Olivia Hale (Sister)  
Wesley Hale (Brother in law)  
August Hale (Nephew)  
Tillie Hale (Niece)

Possible:  
If they’re shady and know too much, possibly a pal of Peter’s

He goes back and clicks ENEMIES instead.

Kate Argent  
-Bitch killed his family

Gerard Argent  
-Bitchass daughter killed his family

Deucalion  
-Alpha Pack leader  
-Tried to kill Malia

Reina Morrows  
-Alpha in South America  
-Tried to convert her pack to be his 

Chris Argent  
-Old grudges die hard  
-Peter refuses to accept change

Trujo Pack  
-Unwilling to discuss Peter Hale.  
-Heavy scent of grief

Probably A Shit Ton of Other People  
-Peter is an asshole

 

Derek can’t help but huff a laugh at it. Stiles’ apology is making more and more sense to him the longer they look through the files. It’s depressing and enlightening and confusing all at once. 

“Kate Argent,” Cora says, quietly. “That name again.”

“Yes.” Derek says, swallowing. 

“Old grudges die hard,” Cora continues. “Vague.”

“Any Argent deserves to be on that list,” Derek says. “Peter isn’t perfect, but an Argent is an Argent.”

Cora nods.

They open the crimes folder and find screenshots of various news articles. There’s one on both bodies left in the woods mentioned in the timeline, one about an attack at a lacrosse game, a video store, and an animal clinic. There’s ones about a bus driver and school janitor and two college kids found in the woods, barely recognizable after an animal attack. He clicks open one with HAILEY CREWS as the titled and quickly shuts it. Crime scene photos. 

Cora is the one that clicks back to the main file page and clicks on WHEREABOUTS instead. Derek doesn’t fight her. 

He clicks the file title CALIFORNIA.

-Stays in hotels or camps in wooded areas.  
-Scruise Pack in Southern CA allowed him to live on their territory for 6 months in 2013.  
-Hangs around the Nemeton  
-Banned from McCall Pack Territory without prior permission  
-Banned from Trujo Pack Territory permanently  
-Banned from all In-N-Out burger locations nationwide, but the CA ones actually have a photo up.  
-Has 6 speeding tickets  
\- Two unpaid parking violations  
\- Banned from Best Western Hotels nationwide

He clicks WASHINGTON.

**CURRENT**  
3972 NW MEAD ST  
APT 4  
VANCOUVER, WA  
**ALPHA CHRISTOPHER FORD KEEPS TAB ON HIM HERE. PERIODIC UPDATES EMAILED. USUALLY AT HOME OR LURKING IN THE WOODS. 

\- Banned from Best Western Hotels nationwide  
\- One paid parking violation  
\- Accused of hit and run in parking lot of liquor store. Insufficient evidence.  
\- Runs the Oregon/Washington border monthly  
-Adopted a cat from a humane society and then let it go  
-This doesn’t belong here, but wtf?

“Peter hates cats.” Cora says, laughing a little. “What the fuck is right.”

BRAZIL, GREENLAND, ICELAND, SWEDEN, SUDAN/EGYPT, PARIS, NEW YORK, TEXAS, CANADA and ALASKA all have similar vague lists with them. 

“What are you thinking?” Cora asks after Derek’s shut his laptop and put it back on the coffee table.

“I have a lot of questions.” About Peter, about Malia, about Stiles, the alpha pack. 

“They had a larger pack,” Cora says quietly. “Erica and Boyd…what do you think happened to them?”

Derek doesn’t answer because it’s pretty obvious. “It’s at least comforting that I’m not the only one that can’t keep Peter dead.”

“It’s not the least bit comforting that he apparently has avoided death multiple times.” Cora says, and she’s right. “What are you thinking about?” She asks again, and Derek knows she has more in mind than Peter.

“I know you want to join them,” Derek says. “I will talk to Scott.”

She smells hopeful but also sad. “Der, talk to me. You don’t seem like you want to.”

Derek remembers what Stiles said. “It’s hard to take my shit to another pack, Cora.”

She considers it for a long time. “They have shit too.”

“They do.” Derek agrees.

“So…you want it, too?”

He nods, unable to admit it out loud. He’s never been good with words and this is no better. 

“You’ll be able to protect him easier,” Cora says, voice quiet. There’s no question about who the “him” in question is. 

Derek doesn’t answer. He’s not sure he’s ready to admit out loud that that’s important to him, even if it’s obvious. 

Even so, he takes his phone out and texts Scott back.

** << Can we meet? I have some questions.**

Scott texts back almost immediately. 

** >> Come by anytime. I don’t work until 4. **

Cora stands up with a grin. “I should get ready. I’m meeting Lydia and Kira to go shopping.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. 

“You’re not the only one who can swap numbers, big brother,” She says, practically dancing toward the shower. 

 

He likes her happy. He just hopes he’s making the right decisions to keep it that way.  
He wishes, not for the first time, that Laura were here instead of him. 

 

Scott’s in sweats and a t-shirt when Derek knocks on the door of the firehouse a couple of hours later. Draco’s with him, wagging his tail happily, no longer wearing a vest. 

“Hey, man,” Scott says, opening the door wider. “Draco, wait.” Draco sits down, body vibrating with excitement. 

Derek toes off his shoes and then looks at Draco. “Can I?”

Scott nods, scrubbing his hand on Draco’s head. “It’s really only in public that we can’t.”

Derek pets him, scratching behind his ears and laughing when the dogs thick tail thumps into Derek’s legs happily. 

“Everyone’s either gone or headed out soon,” Scott says. “We can talk wherever, really. Want coffee?” Scott pulls a bag of coffee grounds from a cupboard and shows it to Derek. The bag has a Dark Moon label on it. 

“Sure. I didn’t know he sold it that way.”

“He doesn’t,” Scott says, shaking the grounds into the coffee maker, eyes focused on a nonexistent line inside. “Special treatment.”

Derek nods. Draco leans against his legs with practically all his weight, wagging his tail wildly. “Stiles doesn’t take him to work?” 

Scott laughs at Draco and snaps for Draco to come. “Sometimes. Stiles likes to let him have time off. With Draco’s tasks, he’s not really on or off when Stiles is around, it’s constant. He feels guilty.” 

“How long has he had him?” 

“Coming up on nine months,” Scott says, scratching behind Draco’s ears. “It took almost a year to get him placed even once Stiles was officially accepted into the program.”

“Stiles said he needed him because of pack history.” Derek swallows. “Cora and I have discussed your offer. I have some questions.”

Scott nods. “We figured you would.” He pours two mugs and motions for Derek to follow him. 

They walk up a staircase near the fireman’s pole and to a second floor, where Scott leads him to a balcony with several comfortable seating options and a fire pit. Draco jumps up onto a couch and lays down immediately. “Probably the most privacy out here. People will be all around getting ready for their day, so.” He waves a hand. There’s a beautiful view of the valley here. 

Derek nods, takes a sip of the coffee. He isn’t even sure where to start. 

“I don’t mean this as an insult, so…don’t take it that way.” Scott clears his throat. “You don’t know what you’re doing. You lost your pack too early to know how this shit works. The good news for you is we had to fake it til we made it. Stiles is the backbone of this pack, man, I may be the Alpha, but he is the one that gets shit done for us.” He gets more comfortable. “What I’m trying to say is this doesn’t need to be formal. Just ask your questions, man. I’ll try to answer them.”

Derek appreciates it. “I was never supposed to be Alpha,” he starts. “Laura was Alpha in training. We were at a school event when the fire happened, and we both felt it immediately. She rushed out of the gym, practically transforming, and I had to get her home, only to find we had no home. She took it in stride and lead the three of us the best she could. When I had to kill Peter, I was angry. I never wanted this. I still don’t. But I only have Cora and I need to be sure we’re making the right choice.”

Scott nods. “I get it, man.”

“I don’t want to go into a pack and not know their shit.”

Scott nods again. “I wouldn’t either.” 

“Stiles’ timeline on Peter painted a very brief picture, but…there’s definitely pieces missing.”

“I’ll be honest, man, I haven’t seen it. All that stuff is all Stiles’, and Lydia helped with a lot of it, too. Danny helps with some of it. Like I said, I’ll try to answer your questions.”

Derek doesn’t know where to start. “Erica and Vernon.”

Scott smells sad. “The Alpha Pack held them for a few weeks in summer of 2012. Erica was killed before we found them. I was forced to kill Boyd.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Literally, forced — the Alpha Pack held me and impaled him on my claws. They were hoping absorbing his power would make me realize it was worth it to join them.”

Derek’s chest is tight. 

Before he says something, Scott shrugs. “We don’t need to do the whole ‘shit, so sorry to hear that’ part. You know that pack history can be a fucking mess. I’m just trying to get you up to speed.”

Derek appreciates it, but it still feels wrong to ignore the pain. “Liam was never mentioned in the Timeline. Peter didn’t bite him?”

Scott shakes his head. “Liam’s mine. Wrong place at the wrong time and a Wendigo threw him off a roof. I caught him, but had to bite him in order to get him back up on the rooftop. Pure fuckin’ luck that he survived, because I had no idea what I was doing.”

“He’s the only one you bit?”

“At the time, yeah. Not long after, I bit his girlfriend, Hayden. Also to save her life.”

“And she’s…?”

“Alive. She’s part of the pack still, but lives in Florida while she goes to school there.”

“Anyone else?”

“That I bit? No.”

“That’s part of your pack but not here,” Derek corrects, but Scott’s answer is good information, too.

“Ah. My mom. Chris and Jordan Parrish. They’re in Beacon Hills and come out often.”

Derek recognizes Parrish from the article about the warehouse raid. “Did Stiles’ dad know?”

Scott clenches his jaw and looks out at the view. “Yeah. Uh, the Alpha Pack were responsible for his death.”

Derek’s eyebrows raise. “I saw some articles —”

“Incomplete, like all articles with supernatural shit involved,” Scott interrupts. “What, they say human trafficking right? They had Stiles. John didn’t wait until we had enough intel to storm in.”

Shit. 

“It messed Stiles up,” Scott says, still looking out. “He’ll never stop blaming himself.”

“Draco?”

Scott nods. “He had anxiety before I was turned. Panic attacks and nightmares and all that after his mom died when we were kids. But…that and some other things made it worse.”

“Other things?”

Scott seems to consider it. “Details are his, man. He has blood on his hands that he can’t let go.”

Derek’s not sure what that means. 

“I know it’s vague.” Scott says. “I just won’t talk about his shit. We’ve had a really, really shitty history. Stiles has been the glue that kept it together from day one, even as we lost people. A result of that is that he has more pain than the rest of us.”

“How many have you lost?”

“Erica and Boyd were the first, right before Senior year. Allison died in December of that same year. Stiles’ dad.”

“Allison? Was she a wolf?”

Scott stares out for a while and there’s grief between them. “Allison was human. One way or another, you’ll find out, so…Allison and Chris are Argents. Before you say anything, you should know that they denounced their family’s ways and both Allison and Chris fought against Kate and Gerard alongside us.”

It’s a lot to take in. “Did Kate or Gerard kill Allison?”

“No,” Scott says, but that’s the end of it. 

“Does Chris know I’m here?”

Scott nods. “Chris is pack. He does not align with the Argents you know.” 

It’s a lot to process right now, so he ignores it. “Malia is my cousin.”

Scott nods. “She didn’t grow up with Peter, obviously. She didn’t grow up with her mom, either. We’ve met her once but know next to shit about her. She was adopted out as a baby. Spent eight years as an actual coyote in the woods as an early teen and then Peter found her, helped her transform back to human…she joined up with us after realizing he wasn’t stable. Her crush on Stiles and his crush on her probably helped.”

Derek hadn’t even considered that Stiles may be in a relationship. 

Scott seems to pick up on his surprise. “They dated for a few months before splitting up amicably.” He says. “Kira and I are together, Jackson and Lydia, Chris and my mom. Liam and Hayden. That’s all.” Chris and Scott’s mom. Huh. 

“Your mom, Chris and Jordan. All human?”

“Jordan’s a hellhound.” Scott says casually, like that isn’t insane. “Otherwise, yeah.”

“We didn’t know what a Kanima was, Kitsune were like, a legend as a kid. Now a hellhound?”

Scott huffs a laugh. “Yeah, blame the Nemeton.”

“Is the Nemeton the reason no one stays dead?” It’s a poor choice of words after just discussing just how many people have died. He winches, but Scott waves a hand. 

“Yeah. The Nemeton is part of what brought Peter back. Kate, too. Myself, Allison and Stiles all got brought back with it. Hayden too. Stiles has the power mostly harnessed now, so he’s done some healing through it.”

“You and Stiles died?”

“Voluntarily,” Scott says, like it’s normal. For them, apparently it is. “Sacrifice to protect our parents.” 

“Did it work?” Stiles’ dad is dead.

“Yes.” Scott says. “John’s death was a different issue entirely.”

“Okay.” Derek considers his next question. “I, uh, asked Stiles if he was okay.”

Scott huffs a laugh at that. “Yeah? What’d he say?”

“He lied.”

Scott nods. “Did you call him on it?”

“No.” Derek wonders if that was the wrong choice and Scott will be disappointed in him. 

“Then you passed his test.” Scott says, leaning back. “Congrats.”

“What test?”

Scott twists his head toward the house and holds a finger up, signaling Derek to wait. Derek hears a car engine a few seconds later, and Draco jumps up and wags his tail at the sliding door. “Stiles is back now.”

Tires screech as he pulls the truck into the garage, and Scott winces at the sound. 

“Something is wrong.” Derek says. “He’s hurt.” He’s not sure how he knows, he just feels it in his core. 

Scott narrows his eyes and opens his mouth, but then he’s jumping up and practically ripping the door off the hinges to get it open. Derek’s on his heels, the scent of blood hitting him a few seconds later. Draco is barking, bounding down the stairs. Scott takes the fireman’s pole, so Derek follows suit. 

Stiles opens the door into the kitchen just as Derek’s feet hit the ground. 

His nose is bleeding again, blood covering his shirt and hands. Draco is jumping around him and barking and Scott slows to a stop upon seeing him. “Don’t touch him,” Scott says as Derek steps forward. He smells of blood and anger more than anything, but if Derek forces himself to focus, he can smell anxiety and pain there, too. “Magic causes the bloody noses.” He adds.

Stiles’ eyes are dark, almost completely black, and it’s terrifying. 

Stiles doesn’t acknowledge them, just walks clumsily to the sink. He turns it on with an elbow, Draco still bounding around him, loud barks echoing throughout the kitchen. 

Jackson comes down the hallway, eyes blue and claws extended. He’s wearing only boxers, like he had been asleep. He stops when he sees Scott and Derek. “You got it?” He asks, not even acknowledging Stiles with more than a glance.

Scott nods. Stiles has his whole head under the spray of the sink. Jackson goes back down the hallway. 

“He’s fine,” Scott says, but he sounds unsure still. 

Another minute passes before Stiles pulls his head out from beneath the spray and starts washing his hands instead. He’s leaning against the sink, elbows propped on the edge, head down. Draco hasn’t stopped barking. 

He turns off the water and steps back. Draco jumps, paws on Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles sits down, right there in the kitchen, disappearing out of view behind the counter. Scott walks forward finally, so Derek follows. Draco is practically completely on top of Stiles, laying down across his body, head tucked under Stiles’ chin. 

Stiles’ hands are shaking where he has them on Draco’s back. His eyes are closed. All Derek can smell is anxiety.

Draco gets off, carefully, after another couple of minutes. He moves quickly to Scott and bumps him forward with his nose. Scott moves immediately after the dog touches him, dropping to his knees beside Stiles and putting a hand on Stiles’ chest, over his heart. Draco keeps bumping Derek, so he moves forward to. Once he’s on his knees on Stiles’ other side, Draco seems happy and sits by Stiles’ head. Scott lifts Stiles’ still shaking hand and places it on his own chest. 

Stiles smells less and less like panic and more and more like exhaustion as the minutes pass. 

It feels like hours pass before Stiles pulls his hand away from Scott’s chest and drops his arm over his face instead. “They’re coming.” He says, voice barely above a whisper. 

Scott’s eyes go red immediately, and Derek feels his burn red in response. He knows in his center that “they” are the Alpha Pack.

“Which line?” Scott asks.

“Umpqua,” Stiles answers, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He sits up, using Derek’s arm to pull himself up. “I need to get to the Nemeton.”

“Now?”

Stiles nods. He isn’t looking at either of them, just straight ahead of himself. 

“How much time do we have?”

“Few days, probably. They think they got by without tripping it. They’re moving slow. Have been for weeks.”

“What happened to being in Idaho?”

“I lied.” Stiles says.

Scott clenches his jaw. “Right, because that makes sense.” Scott sounds legitimately irritated and Derek feels awkward. 

“The line I set up was supposed to kill them.” Stiles snaps. “It misfired.”

Scott deflates. “On someone else?”

“Just a pack of elk.” Stiles says, sounding annoyed too. “And back on me.” He motions at his bloody chest. “It was never going to kill humans. Just animals and them. It failed.”

“Do you know why?”

“Because I’m weak. I need to go to the Nemeton.”

Scott scrubs a hand over his face.

Derek’s phone rings and it makes all three of them jump. He fumbles for it in his pocket and sees that it’s Cora. He hesitates between answer and ignore for a second. “She’s with Lydia?” Stiles asks, and Derek nods. Stiles huffs and taps ‘accept’ before dropping back onto the ground. Draco immediately climbs on top of him again. 

“Cora?” Derek says. Scott gets up and goes down the hallway. Derek can hear Scott waking Malia up.

“We were driving to the mall and Lydia just pulled over and screamed and — Kira says she needs to talk to Scott. He doesn’t have his phone.” Her voice is rushed and panicked. 

“Ask her who it is,” Stiles says, eyes closed.

Shit. Banshee’s predict death with a scream and if she screamed…. “Stiles wants to know who it is.”

There’s a lot of noise from the girls with Cora, and she’s holding her palm over the speaker, Derek thinks. “Lydia says to put her on speaker.” Cora says, finally. 

Derek obeys. 

“Is Stiles there?” Lydia’s voice comes. 

“Just hit me with it, Lyds.” Stiles says, sounding stressed. 

“I — are you back at the house?”

Stiles doesn’t answer, his eyes narrowing. 

“We are.” Derek answers, since Stiles doesn’t.

“Ah,” Stiles says, when Lydia doesn’t answer right away. “This is fucking gold.” He laughs and pushes Draco off his chest to sit up again. 

Lydia is silent on the other end of the phone. Derek’s so, so confused. 

Scott returns with Jackson, Liam and Malia. He narrows his eyes at Stiles and looks questioningly at Derek. Derek shakes his head. 

“We’re on our way there,” Lydia says, and then she hangs up.

“What’d she say?” Jackson asks. He’s pacing. “They have codenames to keep us from freaking out, but this is the alpha pack we’re dealing with. We need all the information here, Stilinski.” 

Stiles is still laughing. 

“Did Lydia give a name?” Scott asks, turning his concerned look on Derek instead.

Derek shakes his head.

Scott looks to Stiles again and his shoulders drop. Realization. Derek’s still lost. He glances at Jackson, Liam and Malia. They still looked concerned and confused, so at least he’s not the only one out fo the loop. 

“Our great predictor of death didn’t give a name,” Stiles says, sitting up again, “because we don’t have a codename for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)
> 
> See you Tuesday!
> 
> Title and poem are Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Siken!


	5. when you snap a mast, it's time to get a new set of oars or learn how to breathe under water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He knows that when you snap a mast it’s time to get a set of oars or learn how to breathe
> 
> underwater. Rely on one thing too long and when it disappears and you have nothing… well, that’s
> 
> just bad planning. It’s embarrassing, to think it could never happen.
> 
> You cannot get in the way of anyone’s path to God. You can, but is does no good. Every agent
> 
> knows this. Some say God is where we put our sorrow. God says Which one of you fuckers can get to me first?
> 
> You cannot get in the way of anyone’s path to happiness, it also does no good. The problem is
> 
> figuring out which part is the path and which part is the happiness.
> 
> It’s a blessing, every day someone shows up at the fence. And when no one shows up, a different
> 
> kind of blessing. In the wrong light anyone can look like a darkness.

Scott curses. Jackson leaves the kitchen. Malia sits on the counter. Liam stands quietly. Draco pushes Stiles back onto the floor and collapses onto his chest again. 

Derek’s still holding his phone and kneeling next to him. Stiles grabs Derek’s hand and pulls it over his heart. Derek could hear it already, erratic and loud, but now that he can feel it, too, he takes a shuddering breath. He follows Scott’s earlier example and brings Stiles’ other hand onto his own chest, placing it over his heart.

The other three watch in silence. They all smell impatient, but no one speaks. 

A few minutes pass, and Stiles’ heart is practically back to normal again. Draco climbs off of him and sits by his head, emitting low whines. Stiles takes a deep, shaky breath, and sits up, using Derek’s arm to help him again. 

“Okay. Jackson, you’re on nights until when?”

“Just tonight.” Jackson answers immediately. “Then I’m off for three days before I’m on days.”

“Okay, we can work with that. Go get some rest.” Draco stops whining. Jackson opens his mouth but Stiles shakes his head. “I’m the one that’s going to die. That means I make the rules. You need to be at one hundred percent, so go get some fucking rest.” Jackson sighs and stomps down the hallway.

“You always make the rules,” Malia says, looking scared.

“That’s not true. Scott sometimes makes the rules and then I change them because they’re fucking stupid.” Stiles taps the floor and closes his eyes, thinking. “I still need to get to the Nemeton. Humans need to stay here. Your mom and Chris should come out and take a guest room. Jordan should be here too.” He stands up and taps the counter instead. Draco moves to laydown at the end of the kitchen bar. “Obviously, you need to be here too, Scott. We can’t separate you from the pack. Too dangerous. Help me out here, guys. Who’s left?”

“Malia, Liam, Kira.” Scott answers quickly.

“Right, okay. Liam and Malia are out. If we run into trouble, I need someone who can keep a handle on it.”

Malia scoffs. Liam looks embarrassed. “I can keep a handle on it very well, thank you very much.” Malia says, crossing her arms.

“You ripped a door handle off at the police station when they told you that Jackson couldn’t speak with you last week,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “Kira’s lightening shit messes with the ritual. Who’s left, Scotty?”

“That’s it.” Scott answers, just as Derek says, “Cora and I.”

Stiles seems to consider this for a few seconds. He’s staring at the sink — there’s still blood on the edge of it, the only sign left from his magic induced bloody nose and panic attack. He’s calm and composed now.

“Let us help.” Derek says, when no one responds. 

“Did you work out alliance guidelines with Scott?” Stiles asks, walking toward a doorway. 

“We’re joining the pack.” Derek says, sure of it. “Tell me what we need to do. We’ll do it.”

Stiles freezes with his hand on the doorknob. For a second, his heartbeat picks up again, but it’s back to normal within seconds. Draco hadn’t even moved from his spot outside the kitchen. 

“Alright, when the girls get back we’ll do a quick allegiance ceremony. Then you and I will go out to Beacon Hills. Cora stays here. Liam and Malia can help her move some things in.” He turns to Derek as he opens the door. “Not permanently unless you’re wanting too. But when the Alpha Pack is involved, we stay close. Sound good?”

Derek nods once. 

“I’m going to go call Jordan,” Scott says. “Then my mom and Chris.” 

“I’ll update Hayden.” Liam says. “She should know.”

“And she absolutely should not leave school. They probably don’t even know she’s still pack. Keep it that way.” Stiles says, grabbing Derek’s arm and pulling him into the storage closet. “I’m weak as hell after that shit. I need that blue duffel bag loaded up in my jeep.” He motions at it vaguely and then steps back out. “Malia, help me pack some food, would you?”

Derek slings the duffel bag over his shoulder. It’s heavier than he expected, surprised at how effortless Stiles had made it look to carry it in the past. He leaves the closet and goes to the garage, locates the jeep easily in the line of vehicles and moves to load it in. He’s slipping it off when the bay door opens and Lydia’s car pulls into the garage. Of course she drives a Prius. 

Cora locks eyes with him from the passenger seat as Lydia pulls into a spot next to Stiles’ truck. The three of them are all stepping out before the car is even off. 

“You’re going with him?” Lydia asks, already heading toward the door. Her makeup is ruined, like she’d been crying. Kira and Cora look distraught, too. 

Derek nods his head. Cora comes to stand next to him, the two of them bumping shoulders. Derek puts an arm around her briefly, determined to comfort her. “What’s the plan?” Cora whispers.

“We’re joining today,” Derek answers, nervous suddenly that he didn’t discuss it with her. 

“Good.” Cora answers immediately, brushing up against him again. “Let’s go, then.”

Inside, Stiles is nowhere to be seen. Malia is shoving food into a backpack. 

Kira’s on her laptop already. 

“Where are they?” Lydia asks.

“Scott’s on the phone with Melissa,” Liam answers, dropping down the fire pole. “Balcony. Stiles is in the office.”

“What’s the plan? He has a plan, right?”

“Allegiance ceremony and then he’s going to the Nemeton with Derek.” Malia answers. 

Lydia looks at Derek and Cora. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.” Derek and Cora say together.

She nods once. “Did he panic?” She asks, quieter. 

“No,” Stiles answers, pulling a sweatshirt on as he leaves the office. Derek smells the thick scent of magic from where he’s standing by the garage, even though the door is only open for a few seconds before he shuts it heavily behind him. “I panicked before you called, and then I kicked my ass into gear.”

She hugs him, tears in her eyes. He shakes his head and pushes her back. “Lyds, don’t. Keep it together, just like we do every other time. We’ve beaten it before and we’ll do it again.”

Lydia wipes her eyes with the back of her sweater. “What do you need me to do?”

Stiles waves a hand. “Stay here and keep these idiots in order.”

He glances up at Cora and Derek. “We usually do the whole allegiance thing outside at night, but we really need to get going and my magic needs some sort of pack bond or alliance to allow you near the Nemeton when I do my shit, so midday in the kitchen is the best we have.”

Derek nods once. 

“Someone tell Scotty to wrap it up,” Stiles says, loud enough for Scott to hear him on his own. 

“He heard you,” Malia says after a few seconds. 

Stiles looks pleased with himself. “Kira, getting anything?” 

“Please don’t speak to me while I’m doing this,” She says, eyes never leaving the screen. To Derek, it looks like gibberish. 

Stiles grins and salutes. 

He drums his hands on the kitchen counter, seemingly distracted. Then he walks back to the office and closes himself in. 

“Where are you going?” Cora asks.

“Nemeton,” Derek answers. That’s all he knows, really.

“What for?”

Derek shrugs a little. 

“He’ll just need you to drive him back,” Lydia says, watching over Kira’s shoulder. When she speaks, Kira elbows her away. “Probably will want a ride there, also, considering…” She waves a hand. Panic attack. “Keep an eye on him. He’ll explain what he’s doing and what to do if something goes wrong.”

“What is he doing?” Cora asks.

Derek remembers Stiles saying “you wouldn’t believe me if I told you” at the diner earlier this morning. Lydia lifts her hands and then drops them. “Magic. Rituals. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Derek’s intrigued at least. 

Scott drops down the pole and runs a hand through his hair. “Parrish and my mom will be in later tonight, once my mom’s shift ends. Braeden will come by in the morning with some gear. Chris is undecided. Where’s Stiles?”

“Here,” Stiles says, coming out of the office again. He has two boxes of candles in his hands. “Everyone ready for this?” 

Derek and Cora nod. 

Jackson comes back down the hallway, Lydia trailing behind, holding tight to his hand. 

“Alright, how many we have here right now?” Stiles asks, ripping one of the boxes open. 

“Nine,” Scott answers. “Including Derek and Cora.”

Stiles nods, counts out nine candles and starts passing them out. “Someone get the lights, at least let’s pretend.” Jackson obeys. Kira pulls herself away from the computer at the island bar to take a candle and join them. 

Once everyone has a candle, Stiles scans the group of them standing around in an uneven circle and nods. 

“Alright, let’s get started, then.” His fingers shake for a few seconds at his side and then he starts speaking again, sounding calm and in charge. “We stand here today under the moon and in the presence of our allies to pledge allegiance to each other and those within this pack not with us now.” His eyes are closed, like he’s focusing on remembering the words. “The McCall Pack, led by Scott McCall and counseled by myself, his emissary, have invited the Hale Pack in it’s entirety to join.” 

He opens his eyes. “Alpha Scott McCall, do you accept these two — Derek and Cora Hale — as members of your pack?”

“I do.” Scott answers. Stiles says something in a language Derek doesn’t understand, and suddenly the candle Scott is holding is lit. Cora gasps a little and Stiles looks pleased for a half second before dropping his face back to the same serious and neutral state as before. 

“Second in command, Jackson Whittemore, do you accept these two — Derek and Cora Hale — as members of the pack?”

“I do.” Jackson answers, nodding once. Stiles says the same thing, and his candle is lit as well. 

“Do you, Lydia Martin, as one of the longest-standing members, accept these two — Derek and Cora Hale — as members of the pack?”

“Yes.” Lydia says, nodding several times. 

This time, since Derek knows it’s coming, he can see a spark of light actually leave Stiles’ mouth and hit the wick of the candle, igniting it. It’s incredible. 

“Kira Yukimura, as partner and private confidant to the alpha, do you accept these two — Derek and Cora Hale — as members of the pack?”

Kira nods. “Of course I do.” 

It doesn’t get less fascinating to watch the candle wicks ignite. Derek could spend forever watching Stiles.

“Liam Dunbar, first bitten of Scott McCall, do you agree that these two — Derek and Cora Hale — should become members of the pack?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, holding his candle away from himself a little as Stiles speaks and flinching as it lights. 

“Malia Tate-Hale, will you accept and protect these two — Derek and Cora Hale — as members of the pack?”

Malia looks them both in the eye before saying “I will.”

Stiles nods. “And I, as emissary and member of the McCall pack accept these two, Derek and Cora Hale, as members of the pack.” The word is barely audible this time as he lights his own candle. 

He turns to face Derek and Cora more directly. “I meant to give a run down of this before, sorry, but — this next part might be uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t last longer than a few seconds. Ready?”

Derek’s not sure what that really means, but he and Cora both nod immediately anyway. They’ve made their choice and they are absolutely not backing out now. 

Stiles nods. “Cora Hale, as beta of the Hale pack, do you agree to join the McCall pack, changing your allegiance from Alpha Derek Hale to Alpha Scott McCall? All ties to your former Alpha will be severed and you will immediately be under complete protection of the entirety of the McCall Pack, who’s territory is nearly 500 square miles large. You will no longer feel a pull to obey your former Alpha, and immediately will feel the bonds this pack has to offer. Please say ‘I vow allegiance to Scott McCall’ if you agree.”

Derek swallows. He wants this, but when it’s worded that way, every part of his wolf tells him to put a stop to this. 

Cora glances at Derek, hands shaking where she’s holding the candle. Derek nods his head a little. “I vow allegiance to Scott McCall.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but she sounds confident.

Stiles whispers something again, different this time. Her candle lights. 

She gasps a little. Derek’s knees buckle and he has to stumble back into the counter to steady himself. He clutches his chest, feeling a deep pain he’s never felt before. Cora gasps again when she looks at him and reaches a hand out to hold his arm. 

It hurts. It hurts and he’s alone. He has no ties to anyone and it hurts. He feels his eyes burning red and it is hard to focus on anything but the emptiness inside him. The instinct to build a pack is stronger than he’d ever imagined. 

“Yeah, sorry, Derek, okay, come on, focus on me, big guy.” Stiles says, snapping his fingers. “Derek Hale, as Alpha and only remaining member of the Hale pack, do you agree to join the McCall pack, dropping your Alpha status to beta? You will immediately be under complete protection of the entirety of the McCall Pack, who’s territory is nearly 500 square miles large. You will immediately will feel the bonds this pack has to offer and your place as Beta under Alpha McCall will be realized. Please say ‘I vow allegiance to Scott McCall’ if you agree.” The words tumble out of mouth quickly, like he’s trying to get it over with in order to help Derek. It’s appreciated. 

“I vow allegiance to Scott McCall.” Derek says as quick as he can, needing to feel the strength of a pack, even if it’s not under his own command, needing someone, anyone, holding him together. He wonders momentarily if this is what it feels to be human, with no realization of what a pack can offer, but he remembers Peter’s human wife very accurately speaking on how she felt the bonds within herself.

Stiles speaks and his candle is lit.

His pain is gone in the same instant that his candle is lit. He knows why Cora had gasped, the snap of the entirety of the McCall pack’s bonds coming into place inside of him is surprising, but it fills the emptiness in a way he hadn’t expected. Not even just the emptiness of the last minute, when Cora had left but he hadn’t yet joined her, but the emptiness of the last several years. He hasn’t felt this full since the day of the fire. He had forced himself to forget it, and even though Stiles is saying something, he ignores it, reveling instead in how he feels. Full. Safe. Strong. Protected. Connected. 

He can’t work out all of the bonds right now, but he knows immediately which is Scott. His and Cora’s bond is felt in the same place as before. He can guess with confidence which is Lydia’s. His bond with Jackson’s feels strained, but not weak. Rough but steady, unbreakable. Stiles feels almost stronger than Cora’s, but it’s different, so different, and his instinct to protect and shelter the younger man is even stronger now, his wolf yearning to touch him suddenly. 

Stiles is in his face now, still talking. He focuses on that, instead.

“ — Gotta focus here, big guy, okay? You’re freaking out your sister and we have shit to do, focus, Derek.” He grins a little and steps back. “Okay, hey man, welcome back. You good?”

Derek glances around. Scott looks a little amused, as does Jackson. Lydia looks sympathetic. Cora looks terrified, moving in closer to scent him immediately. “Sorry, sorry,” He says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t know what happened.”

“It’s a lot.” Stiles says. “Okay, let’s finish up here. This part is customary and awkward, but we have to do it. Please know that we don’t really feel this way in our pack.” He snaps his fingers and all the candles go out. It’s not dark enough outside — the curtains on the back door had been left open, even though someone had shut the ones on the kitchen window — to leave them in the dark completely, but Derek knows the darkness Stiles has created is significant anyway. 

“Alpha Scott McCall, please assert your power over your new beta, Cora Hale.” Stiles says, and before Derek can panic about what that might mean, Scott steps forward and flashes his eyes at her.

She lifts her chin immediately, in a way Derek hasn’t seen her do since Laura lost control one night in New York and lashed out at them, and her eyes flash gold in response. As soon as they do, Scott steps back and grins at her. It’s not a grin of power. Derek can smell genuine happiness on him. “You’re good, you can chill.” She drops her chin, grinning back. 

Stiles nods. “Alpha Scott McCall, please assert your power over your new beta, Derek Hale.” Stiles says. 

Derek’s ready for it, unlike Cora had been, but still, the instinct to submit is faster than his own brain. He bares his throat. He feels his eyes flash, but immediately he knows it’s not right. He can feel that they are still Alpha red immediately, without waiting for the response of those around him. 

Scott steps back, eyes normal, but the a collective gasp from the rest of the rest of them is enough to say that Derek wasn’t wrong about his eyes. 

Derek stays with his throat bared, more out of fear than instinct. 

“You’re good, man,” Stiles says, calm. Derek smells something else on him — irritation, maybe? It doesn’t seem directed at Derek, but he still feels something tight in his chest.

Derek stands straighter and locks eyes with Scott, unsure what to say. 

“Obviously, this is weird,” Stiles says, voice clipped. “But I can assure you that the bond is solidified both ways.”

“I can feel it,” Scott says, quickly. “That the pack grew by two.”

“I feel you as my leader,” Derek says, voice rough. It’s not a lie. 

Stiles nods. “We’re all covered and I’m gonna run through the last few things and then we can head out.”

Scott waves a hand and nods, “Go for it, dude.” He seems legitimately calm, despite Derek still exhibiting Alpha signs. It’s confusing and exhausting. 

Stiles nods. “From this point forward, Derek and Cora Hale are official members of the McCall Pack. Their protection is a priority for all of us. Our resources are theirs, and theirs are ours. As Emissary of the McCall Pack, I vow to honest communication and counsel. Under the light of the moon, we grow and thrive together.”

“Under the light of the moon, we grow and thrive together,” Scott says, and then he throws a fist up and cheers. Someone hits on the lights. Lydia immediately comes to hug both Derek and Cora, the physical contact surprising them both for only half a second before they’re accepting it, pulling the scent of their new pack member onto themselves. 

Jackson knocks his fist lightly into Derek’s bicep and then again into Cora’s shoulder, grinning a little. “Welcome to the pack, guys.”

“Alright, let’s see ‘em,” Malia says, craning her neck to look at Stiles from the place she’s taken on the counter. Derek’s not sure what she’s referring too, but Scott perks up too. 

“Dude, yeah, let us see it!” 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “We gotta get going, It’s going to get dark soon.”

“Seriously?” Liam says. “This is like, the coolest part of the whole thing and you’re going to make us wait?”

“Let’s get out of here, Derek.” Stiles says, nodding toward the door. 

“It’ll take you twenty seconds, Stilinski,” Jackson says. “Shut up and strip.”

Cora giggles a little, obviously surprised. Derek’s confused.

Stiles sighs, clearly irritated, but surprisingly, obeys. He pulls his sweatshirt and shirt off in one quick movement and turns to reveal his back. 

The tattoo Derek had been studying at the diner curves up his arm and onto his back. Before he had turned, he had seen that it twisted forward onto his chest, too. Derek’s not sure what he’s supposed to be looking at right away, until Lydia steps close enough to touch Stiles’ back lightly. About midway down on his left side, there’s two wolf heads, obviously fresher then the rest. There’s dots of blood still leaking from them. One has flames beneath it and the other has roots from the wolf mane that connect to another wolf on the right side of Stiles’ body. Did Stiles’ magic literally tattoo him while he stood a few feet away?

“Who connected with Isaac?” Jackson says, seeming surprised. Apparently magic tattoos are a thing, then. 

“Cora.” Stiles answers, voice still tight.

“What is this?” Cora asks, stepping closer. 

“He’s powerful as fuck,” Malia says, sounding bored.

Derek can’t stop looking at the flames beneath the wolf that apparently represents him. Destruction, even in magical tattoos. 

“Short answer, yes.” Stiles says, with a huff. “It’s how I knew you were both accepted as full members. My spark accepted you and my runes cover you both. It’s a physical representation of the pack bonds.”

“Why am I connected to Isaac?” Cora asks, finger following the roots, ghosting just above Stiles’ skin. Isaac’s wolf is growling, different the rest. 

“Time will tell,” Stiles says, voice clipped. 

“Derek’s flames curve to rise to you.” Lydia says, quietly. 

Derek looks closer, following the flames up past the detailed wolf. They stop just under a fox, that’s wrapped in some sort of cloth that’s falling around it. Apparently, it represents Stiles. 

Stiles pulls his shirt and sweatshirt back on without saying anything. “We good to go, then, Scott?”

Scott looks conflicted, but nods. “You good, man?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles says, though it’s as obvious as it was in the diner earlier this morning that he’s lying. “Derek, you good?”

Derek nods almost robotically. Stiles is already making his way out the garage door, the atmosphere in the room obviously effected by his attitude.

The door slams behind him. 

“What’s his problem?” Jackson asks, annoyed. 

“Be nice.” Lydia says immediately. “I predicted his death and then his spark revealed a mate connection to Derek in the same hour.”

Derek does not hide his surprise well at all, he’s sure of it. He chokes a little and physically steps back. Cora squeaks. 

“Fuck,” Liam says, which Derek wants to echo. “I kind of forgot about the death thing.”

“He’s going to get irritated if you’re not out there in like, ten seconds,” Malia says. She lifts a full backpack up. “You’ll want this.”

Derek takes it automatically, bumps his shoulder into Cora and then goes out the garage door. He hears Cora asking if her connection is a mate bond, too, and isn’t sure he’s prepared for the answer. 

Stiles is in the passenger seat of the jeep, knees bouncing erratically and fingers tapping on his knees. 

Derek tosses the backpack into the back and gets into the front seat. Stiles hands him the keys. 

It’s not until they’re turning off of the street that the firehouse is on that Stiles speaks. “So, mates, eh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem and title are from Richard Siken's War of the Foxes.   
> See you Friday! Thanks for all the comments and support. <3


	6. the radio aches a little tune that tells the story of what the night is thinking. It’s thinking of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History repeats itself. Somebody says this.  
> History throws its shadow over the beginning, over the desktop,  
> over the sock drawer with its socks, its hidden letters.  
> History is a little man in a brown suit  
> trying to define a room he is outside of.  
> I know history. There are many names in history  
> but none of them are ours.

Derek isn’t really shocked by the bluntness of the statement, but that doesn’t mean he’ll adjust to it quickly. The GPS tells him to to turn left at the end of the street, which he already knew, but he appreciates the noise filling the car. 

“So that’s really what that means?” Derek asks, even though he’s sure it’s true. He wonders if Stiles knows the weight of it and how important it is to a wolf. Derek hadn’t asked if Kira and Scott were mates and he hadn’t pulled his focus off his own representation on the tattoo long enough to make a guess about other connections. 

The GPS tells him to turn right ahead. Stiles’ knees are bouncing at a steady pace, but he doesn’t smell extremely panicked or anything. 

“I mean, yeah,” Stiles says, eyes trained ahead of him. “You knew already, though.” He says, quieter. 

“Not exactly,” Derek admits. He’s unsure what it is about Stiles that makes him want to talk, especially about something so…personal. He hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on what his wolf may have been insinuating and now it’s all out in front of him and he has no idea where to start dismantling it. 

“Ah,” Stiles says, knees still bouncing.

“Did you know?” Derek asks instead. “Before, I mean.” He flips on his right turn signal.

“Had an inkling,” Stiles answers. “Don’t take this right. The GPS is a dumbass.”

Derek turns off his turn signal. “And?”

“And take the second right ahead.”

Derek sees it. “Okay, but I meant about your inkling.”

Stiles grins a little. “Right. Yeah, I had an inkling. No one really understands the way my magic works and I sound crazy when I try to explain it. Part of the problem is I don’t understand it even, so explaining it gets…messy.”

“Try me.” Derek wonders if he deserves a soulmate. He'd let the idea of one fade after the fire. He let the hope die with his pack. 

“When you came to Dark Moon that first time, my protection rune was…pulsing. I had already known who you were at that point, so I convinced myself that I just wanted to protect you because you were a werewolf. I have a soft spot for most of them.” He grins a little. “But the more I thought about it, the less likely that seemed. I like the Vampire that comes through the stand, and I hope he lives through the year, and I’d even show up to a battle alongside him if it came to that, but the rune has never reacted that way. And I know Todd. I didn’t know you.”

Derek turns right. “So your brain automatically assumed that meant mates?” Just his luck a banshee predicts his mates death in the same hour it's confirmed to be his mate. 

Stiles laughs. “Hell no, I automatically assumed something was fucking with my magic. I took a trip to Umpqua to try to ground myself better.”

“How’d that go?”

“Came back and the damn thing still pulsed when you were around, so.” He waves his hand. “Fate accepted.”

Derek bristles at the casual comment. 

“Hey, don’t get offended.” Stiles says. “I’m the one that’s about to get fucking murdered after finding out there’s someone actually out there for me.”

“What a calming thing to say to your mate,” Derek points out. “Thanks, dear.”

Stiles twists to look at him and then laughs out loud. “Okay, touché.”

Derek’s knuckles are white where he’s holding the steering wheel, but his shoulders relax at the sound of Stiles’ laugh. “I mean, it’s really in line with my luck in general.” Derek points out.

“Yeah?” Stiles says, still grinning.

“I mean, definitely. I find a guy that I think is attractive and before I can even build up the nerve to make a move, its revealed through magical fucking tattoos that he’s my mate. But, plot twist — he’s gonna die.”

Stiles is smiling still. “Me and my dad used to play this game after my mom died. I think he died thinking I was a fucking crazy person because of it, but it helps me a lot. Scott won’t play because he says it’s too negative, but it only takes a few minutes for you to get fucking dark, so you’d probably be good at it.”

“Okay, what’s the game?”

“Worst case scenario.” Stiles says, pulling his legs up onto the seat and folding them beneath him. “I list out a worst case scenario and then you come back with a worse one. We keep going until we both feel less anxious.”

“Who said I was anxious?” Derek asks, even though he is. Very much so.

“Look at your knuckles, dude. You’d have snapped your bones by now if you were human.”

Derek laughs a little and forces himself to loosen his grip on the steering wheel. “Okay, fine. You caught me. Go ahead, then.”

“Okay, great.” Stiles drums his fingers on the dashboard. “Okay, so Alpha Pack show up. They somehow get to Scott, he kills me. Scott can’t live with the guilt and kills himself.”

Dark. “Scott can’t live with the guilt and kills himself, and that leaves my unstable ass in charge.”

Stiles barks a laugh. “Shit, you play well for a first timer.” He rolls down the window a little as Derek merges onto the highway. “Okay, Alpha Pack comes, they don’t get to Scott, but they somehow get to me, and you come in, all white-knight like, and try to save me. We both get ourselves killed and it leaves Cora without anyone.”

Fuck. “I come in and try to save you but I’m too late and I have to live with the fact that I couldn’t protect you and you died, and your whole pack hates me forever, even though I’m apart of it.” 

Stiles relaxes into the seat a little more. “You die in place of me and I’m destined to be alone forever.”

“You die.” Derek says, voice quiet. 

Stiles huffs and pulls his hood on. “Yeah. Worse case kind of ends there for me, huh?”

“You said you’ve avoided it before.” Derek says. 

Stiles nods. “I talk a big game, but our track record isn’t great. Avoided 4, got hit with 12 or so.”

Shit. “Well, that was before I was here.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? You a world class fighter?”

“Fuck no. But I’ve survived this long on pure determination, so might as well keep pushing my luck.”

Stiles laughs a little. “Alright, alright. I like it.”

“Tell me more about your tattoos,” Derek says, wanting to pull the attention away from Stiles’ threat of death. 

“First one showed up after…” He stares out the window. “December of Senior year. At the time, it was just…me. When I started getting a handle on the mage shit and training under Deaton as an emissary, the others came. Scott next, then Lydia. My dad and Scott’s mom were close behind. Kira, Jackson, Malia and Isaac all at once a few weeks later. Liam, Hayden, Parrish, and Argent showed up when they officially agreed to be pack, just like yours and Cora’s.”

“Do they hurt?”

“Few seconds of blinding pain and then it’s over.”

Derek had been too distracted by his own pain in the moment to realize that Stiles was in pain, which his wolf isn’t happy with. “Why do I have flames?”

“I don’t choose them, if that’s what you’re asking.” Stiles says. “It’s not up to me in the least.”

“What happens if someone leaves the pack?”

“My dad’s is scarred over.” Stiles says, quietly. 

Subject change again. “Is Isaac a good guy?”

Stiles grins. “Yeah. Wears scarves in the summer sometimes, but we all have our downfalls.”

Derek laughs a little. “Yours is a fox.”

Stiles stares out the window. “Yeah.” He smells irritated.

“Are they all animals? I didn’t get a close look at them…I was distracted by my own.”

“No, some are symbols. My dad’s was a spear and shield. Argent’s is a padlock. Melissa is a bear. Lydia’s a sparrow. All the werewolves are wolves, but each are a little different.” Stiles shrugs. “They all have meaning, obviously. Melissa is a protective mother, my dad taught me to fight but protected me fiercely. Argent’s represents his alliance to a new code.”

“And yours…”

Stiles is quiet for a little bit, eyes focused on something out his window. 

“You don’t have to tell me.” Derek says

Stiles huffs. “Yeah, I could die hoping you don’t have to hear it from me.”

Derek clenches his jaw.

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles says, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “Unfair.”

“I don’t want to keep going with us just…accepting that you’re going to die.”

“Fair.” Stiles says, nodding. “I wouldn’t want to do it if the situations were reversed.”

“Then we ignore it and live in bliss.”

Stiles laughs a little. “Yeah, nothing like the bliss of the Alpha Pack looming.”

“How many times have you faced them?”

“Three times,” Stiles says. “They killed my father last time and left with over half their pack in pieces because of it.”

“You can do it again.”

Stiles seems to be considering it. “My tattoo is of a fox spirit. A nogitsune.”

Derek’s not sure how the two relate, so he says nothing. 

“I killed Allison. And four security guards and three nurses that worked with Scott’s mom.” He starts drumming on his legs again. “Well, if Scott were here, he’d say ‘You didn’t kill anyone, Stiles. You were possessed.’ And fine, whatever, I was possessed by an evil fox spirit, but I still was there and I still remember it all. I liked it.”

It’s a lot of information. “Scott said you blood on your hands that you won’t let go.” Derek says. “But he also said that you didn’t deserve it.”

“Scotty is an angel.” Stiles says, dismissive. “But I killed someone else, too, and Scott and I lost touch for a bit over it, so he doesn’t get to act like he hasn’t been pissed about it before.”

“He didn’t seemed pissed about you at all.”

“Yeah, it’s blown over now. I killed Donovan in self defense, but Scott didn’t — he didn’t hear it from me first, so things were rocky.”

“Self defense doesn’t count as murder.” Derek says, very decisively.

Stiles shrugs. “Blood on my hands either way.”

“If you get to count those are your fault, I should count my whole pack as mine.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Okay, more details. I have an idea of what happened but…”

“I let Kate seduce me. I gave her a key to the garage. She used it to get into the house and line it with mountain ash so no one could get out, and then she lit it on fire.”

Stiles seems to consider it. “Well, Kate’s a fucking bitch, so.”

“Which I missed completely, apparently. At least you have the excuse of being literally possessed.” Derek says. 

Stiles huffs. “Yeah, I guess so.” He’s quiet for a minute before he takes a breath. “We sacrificed ourselves voluntarily to save our parents. Scott and Allison had anchors and I didn’t. I thought I did, but I didn’t. It opened me up to darkness.”

“Your magic?”

Stiles nods a little. “The spark was there before, and I’d called on it some, but…a lot of the magic stems from the darkness. When Duecalion killed my dad, I lost control. They left in pieces, literally for some of them, and I spiraled.”

“You don’t think you can survive it,” Derek realizes.

“Worst Case Scenario might not be that the Alpha pack kills me. I might kill myself trying to decimate them.” He swallows hard. “I’m going to the Nemeton to reset some protection lines and also to try to ground myself more.” 

It’s quiet between them as Derek works through all the information shared. He wants to protect Stiles with every part of his being. He doesn’t want him to shut down, so he keeps the conversation moving. “You mentioned earlier that Argent has a new code.”

"Nous protégèons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes," Stiles answers quickly, the pronunciation flawless. "We protect those who cannot protect themselves."

“Huh.”

“Scott said you were coming to the firehouse with some questions, so I assume that means he told you about Allison.”

“Just that she died, really. There was a lot of grief in it.”

“Star crossed lovers from day one,” Stiles says. “Chris tried to kill Scott in the woods like, two days before Ally and Scott’s first date. Obviously, he didn’t know he was trying to kill Scott at the time, but.” He waves a hand. “We owe a lot to her. She fought hard to get Chris to see a new side of things.” 

“Were they mates?” Derek asks.

Stiles shrugs a little. “Probably. Scott wasn’t very in-tune with himself at that point and I didn’t have a hold on any of my magic at that point either, so.” He shrugs. “Damn tattoo didn’t show up until the nogitsune was defeated, so…Allison was gone, already.” Stiles pushes up his sleeves and rolls down the window a little. It is hot in the car. 

“You don’t have to keep it on,” Derek says. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

Stiles doesn’t respond right away, but then he’s stripping the sweatshirt off and balling it up to shove behind his seat. “Guess not, we’re pack now.”

“Did you do the runes yourself?” Derek asks, able to pick out a couple symbols from the design twisting up his arm now. Before it had all looked like some sort of tribal design with a different flare to it. 

“Deaton did them, but I researched and chose them, yeah.” He twists his arms a little.

Derek can’t stop looking at the scar.

“Alpha Pack,” Stiles says, using a finger to trace it. “I tried to get away from them and miscalculated how quickly they could transform, so the blunt human nails on my wrist were very quickly replaced with claws, and…well, you can see how well that worked.”

“But you lived. It looks…bad.”

“It sucked. I lost a lot of blood and it took weeks to heal. But it healed.”

“For a human in a wolfpack, you don’t have many scars.”

Stiles huffs. “Even enemies usually keep things beneath clothing lines. I don’t even get it, but I appreciate it, I guess.”

“You’ve faced more than just the Alpha pack, though. Scott and I hadn’t been speaking for very long and it was already obvious that there’s a lot going on in this area.”

“Nemeton, baby,” Stiles says, shrugging. “Yeah. Dread-doctors, hellhounds, Kanima, Wendigo, Kitsune, Banshees, Kelpies, Nogitsune and Oni…the great hunt was shitty.”

“Great Hunt. I saw that on Peter’s timeline.”

“Yep. Ghost riders taking people from memories. They took whole towns and shit. Out of the whole pack, of course I’m the one that gets taken, and then before I can even relish the peace and quiet, Peter shows up. Just my fucking luck.” He huffs. “I shouldn’t say that. Peter was integral to our escape out of it all, so. Satan in a V-Neck gets a point there.”

Derek laughs a little at the nickname. “V-necks, huh?”

“Way too many, dude. And he’s so old. It’s weird.”

Derek laughs again. The GPS tells him to get off the highway in five miles. He hadn’t realized they were that close already. 

Stiles reaches forward and taps on his phone. “Pit stop,” He says. “I forgot to get a few things.”

The new address he’s input is fifteen minutes closer than the last. 

“Where we going?” Derek asks.

“My house,” Stiles answers, voice quiet. “I just need to get a jar or two of mountain ash and clean my knives.” He turns off the highway and takes a left. 

Derek narrows his eyes. “What exactly are you going to be doing at the Nemeton?”

“Magic.” Stiles says, plainly. “I’ll scratch some runes into the ground, tie some special rope around, sing a little song, dance a little jig. You know. The usual.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “I’m not actually sure if you’re telling the truth.”

Stiles laughs. “Okay, no song and no dance. But the rest is accurate. There will be some candles. Some chanting. I’ll do a small blood sacrifice, nothing to be alarmed about.”

Derek feels alarmed. “And you need mountain ash because…”

“Because when I’m doing magic shit, I’m not paying attention to shit around me. I throw a circle around the clearing and have a dome of protection around myself to give myself a little bit of protection.”

“And what do I do?” They’re in a neighborhood now. 

“I’ll explain as it happens, but for the most part, you’re a second set of eyes. If shit goes south, hopefully you can help me fight whatever it is.”

“How often does that happen?”

Stiles shrugs. “Nine times out of ten, we’re all good. But the Nemeton is still the Nemeton, so…people come. It’s more alluring when I’m messing with the magic within it.”

“Scott says you’ve done some healing through the Nemeton.”

Stiles nods. “It takes a shit-ton of energy out of me, but it’s been worth it to help save people when it came down to it. Isaac’s arm got ripped off by a deranged Omega once and the dumbass didn’t like, try to hold any blood in, just thought ‘hey, I’m a werewolf, I can heal’ which, okay, fine, we get it, you’re superior, but you still got your armed ripped off.”

Derek laughs. “So Isaac’s a good guy, just stupid.”

Stiles laughs. “I’ll tell him you said that. He should be trying to prove himself, anyway.” 

Derek huffs. He’s not really against Isaac trying to prove himself to Derek. Cora deserves the best. 

“It’s this one up here,” Stiles says, pointing. “Blue house.” Derek pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine. 

The two of them sit in the car in silence for a few seconds, Derek unsure if Stiles wants him to come inside, and Stiles seemingly unsure if he wants to go inside himself. 

Stiles finally unfolds his legs from beneath him and opens the door, stretching and cracking his back. “You can come in,” He says. “No bathrooms at the Nemeton, so if you need one, now’s your chance, big guy.”

Derek nods and gets out too. He tosses Stiles the keys from the bottom of the porch steps. Stiles fumbles with them, hands moving quickly and batting at them several times before he lifts them triumphantly. His cheeks are pink. “Damn, one could’ve hoped for more time before you saw how royally uncoordinated I am.”

“It’s cute.” Derek says, surprising himself. He doesn’t hold his tongue well around Stiles. Noted. 

Stiles laughs a little. “Sure, man. Woo me while I’m alive, keep it up.”

Derek clenches his jaw but doesn’t say anything. He’s not going to tell Stiles to stop expressing himself. He tries to take the step onto the porch from the top step and is pushed back. Stiles curses and apologizes, says something unrecognizable under his breath and then nods his head toward the door. “You’re good, man. Sorry again.”

Derek takes the step slower this time, but there’s no resistance. 

Stiles unlocks the door and steps in, hitting a light switch and moving into the living room enough for Derek to make his way into the room, too. “Hey, can you lock it?” Derek nods and twists the lock. “Dead bolt too,” Stiles says, seemingly embarrassed. Derek listens.

There’s a sheriff’s jacket thrown over the back of a recliner and a cup of coffee on the side table next to it. It’s empty, but obviously unwashed.

Stiles must see him looking at it because he moves quickly into the adjoining dining room and motions for Derek to follow. “I haven’t been able to pack anything, so…” He waves a hand. There’s case files on the dining room table and a large map of Beacon Hills on the wall with several pins and different colored strings on it. There’s some photographs up on the wall next to it. “Oh, hey, may as well study those faces. That’s the Alpha Pack.” He walks over to it and tears down four of the photos. “There’s more of them now, but these four are still the ring leaders.”

“Which is Deucalion?” Derek asks, eyes flashing involuntarily at the faces staring blankly back at him. He’s not sure if it’s a reaction as a pack member or mate, but he doesn’t resist the feeling of anger that boils beneath his skin.

“Blind one,” Stiles says, pulling something from a cupboard in the kitchen. “Don’t let it fool you, though. He can still see when he’s transformed. Plus the whole wolf thing helps him out while he’s not.”

Derek nods. “Who are the other two?”

“Kali is the woman,” Stiles answers. “She is responsible for both Erica and Boyd. She tried and failed to kill her former emissary, who then came back under a new identity with a transformed face — thanks to the Nemeton, of course — and wreaked havoc on us in high school.”

Derek nods, filing the information away. 

“The other two are Ethan and Aiden.” Stiles starts boiling something on the stove that Derek immediately recognizes as vinegar. Derek wrinkles his nose. 

“Yeah, sorry, need it for cleaning some things for the ceremony. I hadn’t gotten around to it after Umpqua.”

Derek nods. “Tell me more about Ethan and Aiden.”

“Twins,” Stiles answers. “Best to avoid talking about them casually in front of Danny or Lyds. Danny dated Ethan and Lydia dated Aiden. We didn’t know at the time that they were Alpha Pack, obviously, but…” he waves a hand. 

“From the same pack, but still alphas?”

“Oh yeah, they had a super flattering trick.” Stiles says, sounding irritated. “They could merge into one giant beast. Real cute, real fun.”

Derek shudders involuntarily and Stiles nods. “You got it, dude.” He taps on one of the twins. “Aiden is gone. We never updated our photos, though.”

“From the same attack…?” Derek asks, unsure if it’ll bother Stiles if he pries a little.

“No. He died the same time Allison did.” Ah. He smells a guilty, so Derek assumes that means the Nogitsune was involved, then. Stiles glances around, obviously trying to change the subject. “Hey, grab that duffel bag from the jeep, would you?” Stiles tosses the keys back and Derek catches them effortlessly. Stiles rolls his eyes, but he smells fond. Derek likes that scent on him. 

Derek nods and heads back out to the driveway. He checks his phone while he unlocks the jeep, realizing he should probably tell Cora that he’s here safely. After Laura went missing in New York, the two tend to worry more than is probably normal.

**> > Uh?? Youre mates with him!! Derek!!**  
**> > Okay I know you’re driving but also IM MATES WITH ISAAC??**  
**> > I did really think he was cute. He’s at work right now, how boring.**  
**> > How should I tell him that I’m into him?? Bow chicka wow wowwww.**  
**> > How are you telling Stiles?? **  
**> > Are we moving into the firehouse permanently? I have no idea how much to bring over.**  
**> > I’m leaving this stupid coffee maker. We have an actual coffee god living under the same roof as us, we don’t need this bitchass machine.**  
**> > Lydia has informed us all that we are absolutely ignoring the whole Stiles-is-about-to-die thing. So if I seem insensitive it’s because Lydia terrifies me a little.**

**< < We made it to Beacon Hills. Don’t move too fast with him. Make him work for it.**  
**< < Stiles says he wears scarves in the summer, Cora. Someone like that shouldn’t be trusted flippantly. **

He slings the duffel bag over his shoulder, locks the jeep and heads back inside. 

He locks the door behind him, making sure that the deadbolt makes a noise so Stiles knows it’s locked and doesn’t have to ask if he did. 

“Cora is already trying to give me a heart attack with her texts about Isaac.” Derek says, bringing the duffel bag into the kitchen. He sets it on the counter, pushing back an empty fruit bowl a little to make room.

Stiles grins. “The good news for you is that Isaac is shy as hell, so she’ll hit resistance there, even though he is totally into her.”

“Did he say that or are you assuming?” Derek asks, narrowing his eyes.

Stiles laughs. “He said it and I could sense it.” He unzips the bag and digs around until he pulls out a small leather case. “Sorry, man.”

Derek huffs. Cora’s sent three more texts, so he swipes to read them.

**> > It’s cute that you’re protective.**  
**> > I, however, give you complete permission to get it on with Stiles. **  
**> > Lydia says he already gushed about how hot he thinks you are, so it’s not even like you have to woo him.**

He rolls his eyes and pockets it.

“Turn it back around and make it weird about me,” Stiles suggests, pulling a knife from the leather case. Derek winches at how sharp it looks, even from a few feet away.

“Unfortunately, she’s already making it weird about you.”

Stiles laughs. “Can’t help you then, dude. You’re on your own, sounds like.”

Derek juggles the consequences of his next statement for a full two seconds, which is not nearly enough time to take into account all of the possible responses to it. “Lydia told her that you gushed about how hot I am.”

Stiles turns red, but he turns around and winks, his eyes bright and unashamed. 

Derek laughs and steps closer. “How can I help?”

Stiles bumps his shoulder into Derek as he lines up a second and third knife next to the pot on the stove. “You can’t. Just need to sanitize these real quick and then we can head out to grab some dinner. It’s early, but I’m starving.”

Derek nods, realizing he hadn’t eaten all day. “Me too.”

“Mexican okay? There’s this place by the station that’s incredible.”

“Yeah, of course. Whatever you want.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Careful, dude. I am a dying man. I might have a bucket list a mile high.”

Derek clenches his jaw again. “Try me, dude.” He says, adding the dude only to try to make it seem lighter than the promise it really is. 

Stiles dips each knife carefully into the boiling vinegar, holding them there for several seconds before he pulls them out and lays them on a stack of paper towels on the other side of the stove. “I know you’re thinking that this doesn’t look like the best method,” Stiles says, turning off the stove and shoving the pan off the hot top. “And you would be right. But we’re crunched for time, so we’re relying on my superior immune system to pick up the slack.”

Derek rolls his eyes, unsure if he should argue for a better method of sanitization. It’s probably a moot point considering how confident Stiles had seemed. 

He pats them dry carefully and slips them into a different leather case that he pulls from the duffel bag. “See, I even have a different sheath for the clean ones.”

“I thought you had a superior immune system.”

Stiles grins. “We don’t need to push it, man. This baby works hard. You try being one of the only humans in a house full of werewolves. I work in a coffee stand, man, you wouldn’t believe the amount of germs that come through that place. And then I bring it home with me and my genetically superior roommates don’t even suffer with me.”

Derek remembers Peter’s wife getting sick a few times a year when he was a kid. Peter had always been so worried about her, despite her constantly telling everyone she was just fine. Peter would be up all night, pacing, and Corrinne would be up all night coughing, and no one in the house would get any sleep between the two of them. Peter would insist on going to the hospital, and sometimes Corrinne would settle for a trip to the doctor, but even they would send her home and tell her to rest up. Peter never thought that was enough. He wonders what happened to that part of Peter. Was it gone forever or just buried? Would Peter ever heal from the deranged state losing his wife and child left him in? Then again, he had lost a child years before, apparently voluntarily, and that never seemed to bother him. Derek was seven when Peter married Corrinne, which means Malia was two at the time. He tries to remember what Peter was like when he was in kindergarten, but the memories are fuzzy that far back. It’s frustrating. 

“Hey, where’d you go, man?” Stiles says, eyes concerned. “You went a little pale.”

Derek looks at the ground and tries to recenter himself in the here and now. “Sorry.”

“I go away more than anyone, no need to apologize. You want me to pull you out or leave you next time?”

“Out, always.” Derek says, quickly. The less time he spends thinking about his past, the better. 

Stiles salutes. “Same, man. Same. Not a good place to hang, my mind.”

Derek nods in agreement. 

“Okay, you need anything before we go?” He scans the kitchen. “I have a few warmer jackets and some hats upstairs, guess you didn’t really know what you were signing up for when you showed up to talk to Scott his morning, huh?”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Derek agrees, unsure if he’s about to be wearing some of John’s clothing. He wouldn’t necessarily mind, but he thinks Stiles would. 

Stiles nods. “Sweet, man. Be right back.” Derek hears him bounding up some stairs and go into another room upstairs. Instead of waiting around and listening in on Stiles’ movement, he pulls his phone back out. 

****

<< Stiles is not ignoring the whole Stiles-is-about-to-die thing.  
<< Just my luck, Cora. Just my luck.

****

>> Don’t, Der.  
**> > You’ll get your happiness. Scott and Lydia have been talking strategy and they’re legit.  
**> > I promise. Our pack will protect him. ****

********

********** **

<< Our pack. Sounds nice.

****

****

>>No one is discussing the alpha eyes you flashed back at Scott. I was hoping there would be more gossip there.

****

**> >Maybe, but I still love drama.**

Stiles is bounding down the stairs again, so Derek slips his phone back in his pocket. He has a UCLA sweatshirt slung over his arm and a Beacon Hills Police Department beanie. “These should probably fit you. The UCLA sweatshirt is Scott’s, but he bought it big when he assumed he’d bulk up from working out…and didn’t.” 

Derek accepts the sweatshirt and hat with a thank you. “Are we coming back here or packing up your bag now?” He nods at the knives on the kitchen counter.

Stiles grabs it and tosses it into the duffel bag. “Probably should just head out to the preserve after eating, don’t want to get held up somehow.”

Derek nods and zips the bag. “All ready to head out, then?”

Stiles nods, eyes glancing over the map on the wall. “Yeah.”

Stiles locks the door and checks it four times before stepping away from the door. “I’m gonna —” He motions at the porch again. “Makes me feel better about it.”

Derek nods and goes down onto the sidewalk. “Don’t have to tell me twice,” He says, waving a hand.

Stiles drops to a knee, pretending to tie his shoe, but he whispers something under his breath and Derek smells the magic in the air for a few seconds. Nothing looks different, but he knows better than to test the line. Stiles nods, content, and hops down the steps. 

“Keys? I can drive us to the restaurant, easier than listening to the obnoxious GPS voice. Or mine.” Derek hands them over instead of tossing them, remembering the earlier struggle for Stiles to catch them. 

Stiles plugs his phone into a AUX cord and hands it over to Derek, music app open. “Pick something good.”

“It’s your music, isn’t it all good?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah, but this is the first chance you’ve had with the AUX cord. It’s a big job. If you fail to impress here, it’s over.”

“Over before our first date because of song selection, huh?” Derek says, scrolling through the options. There’s a lot of classic rock and alternative rock, a lot of bands Derek’s never heard of, plenty of the pop punk Derek had seen Stiles’ listen to in the stand. 

“Poor music choice is a red flag, big guy. Can’t change the rules just because the magic tattoo says we’re mates.”

Derek huffs a laugh and finally settles on Stuck In the Middle by Stealers Wheelers. 

Stiles grins and turns it up as soon as the first few chords come through the speakers, so Derek feels like he’s passed the test. 

“One of my dad’s favorites,” Derek says, barely surprised by his willingness to discuss his family around Stiles. “He’d always sing it to my mom when my sisters and I were being difficult.”

“Were you a joker or a clown?” Stiles asks.

“Joker.” Derek answers, nodding seriously.

Stiles grins. “My dad had a partner when I was a kid that swore this was the best song for stakeouts. He played it so much that my dad once banned me from listening to it in the car, which really only made me play it more.”

Derek laughs. “How kind of you.”

“I’m nothing if not kind,” Stiles says, faking serious. 

He pulls into a crowded restaurant parking lot and finds parking after circling for a minute. “I promise this is place is worth it.”

“A crowded parking lot is usually a good sign,” Derek agrees, getting out. 

They go inside, Derek moving quicker than usual in order to beat Stiles to the door so he could open it for him. If Stiles is going to die, he’s going to die being wooed.

There’s a line at the counter inside, but immediately upon entering, the older woman at the register locks eyes with Stiles and grins. She comes around the counter, dropping the credit card she was running and hugs him. Derek doesn’t miss how Stiles’ tenses up as she moves in for the hug, but still, he returns it wholeheartedly. 

“Hi, baby,” She says, kissing both cheeks. “Are you all here tonight?”

“Nah, just me and this guy,” Stiles says, nodding his head toward Derek. “Maria, this is Derek.”

She looks at Derek and then back at Stiles, eyes mischievous. “Oh, is this a friend, honey? Or a friend friend?”

Stiles huffs a laugh. “You know I take all my dates here first,” He says, and Derek hates how his wolf wants to be annoyed by the comment. 

She’s squeezing Derek’s cheeks before he can even respond, and he forces a smile. “Hi, Derek. Stiles is a good boy, you be nice, okay?”

Derek nods. “Of course, Ma’am.”

Stiles grins at Derek’s obviously discomfort. 

“Okay, good boy,” She says, patting Derek’s chest. “You go sit where you want, sweetie.” She says, kissing Stiles’ cheeks again as she moves back toward the counter.

Stiles grins and grabs two menus from a stack off the counter and nods toward the seating area. 

Once they’re sitting in a booth, semi-secluded from other people, Stiles passes him a menu. “We helped Maria get out of a bad deal with some Vampires that were taking advantage of her location in regards to the hospital,” He says, voice quiet. “She’s convinced she needs to thank us in priority seating and special treatment.”

“You guys do a lot of good.” Derek points out.

“I guess, but this place is special to me, so.”

“For all those first dates?”

Stiles laughs. “Nah, my dad and I used to hang out here when my mom was in the hospital when I was a kid. Maria felt sorry for me, I think, because she always ‘lost’ our check and wouldn’t let us tell her what we ordered so she could ring up a new one.” 

Derek nods a little. “Still.”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s our duty, isn’t it? Our territory to protect and govern.”

“I don’t know how much my parents got involved in. They were very secretive about pack affairs.”

Stiles shrugs. “It’s possible they didn’t have to.” He drums his hands on the table. “The Nemeton really does make things more exciting. And by exciting I mean exhausting.”

A waitress comes to the table and drops off a basket of chips and salsa. “Hola! I’m Sofia and I’ll be your waitress tonight. I can get some drinks started and come back when you’ve had time to look at the menu.”

“Sure, yeah,” Stiles says, nodding. “Water and a bottled coke for me.”

Derek nods. “Same for me.”

She nods, jotting it down on a pad, and then excuses herself. 

“I did take a guy here once, though,” Stiles says. “In high school. I’d met him at The Jungle, which is this gay bar that we used to sneak in as kids.”

“How’d that go?”

“He was lactose intolerant, didn’t tell me, ordered nachos, and then told me he got food poisoning from here.”

Derek laughs. “So you went on a second date?”

Stiles laughs. “God, no. Don’t try to blame La Roca for your idiocy. Not on my watch.” Derek pokes himself in the roof of the mouth with a tortilla chip and Stiles barks out a laugh. “Don’t try to curse this place for me, man.”

Derek raises his hands in surrender. “That was all my own idiocy, don’t worry.”

Stiles grins as the waitress comes back with their drinks. Derek opens the menu for the first time. 

Sofia laughs. “I can come back in a few minutes, take your time.” 

Derek nods, still hurrying to scan the menu. “What’s your favorite?” He asks Stiles, wanting to know more about him in general.

“All about the Enchiladas Supreme, dude. But Scott would argue the Burrito Supreme is better. Scott is wrong, but still. He’s the boss, so.”

“What’s the consensus on fajitas?”

Stiles balances a dangerous amount of salsa on a chip and pauses with it halfway to his mouth. “They’re for people that love attention.”

Derek laughs a little and shuts the menu. The waitress is nearby and sees, so she comes to the table. “Ready?”

Stiles glances at Derek, who nods. “Yeah, I’ll get the Enchiladas Supreme with extra sauce, extra guac. No beans, just double rice.”

She nods. “Got it. And for you?”

“Steak fajitas, please.” Derek says, grinning when Stiles rolls his eyes. “With flour tortillas and a side of rice.”

“You would,” Stiles says, when the waitress leaves. “A guy that looks like you? I should’ve guessed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and poem are Little Beast by Richard Siken.  
> Thanks for reading! And thank you to whoever pointed out I had tagged Dean Winchester somehow on accident! <3


	7. you want to die for love, you always have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’re going to die in your best friend’s arms.  
> And you play along because it’s funny, because it’s written down, you’ve memorized it,  
> it’s all you know.
> 
> **Trigger warning for self harm in the form of blood magic. Passages with this have been marked with an asterisk in front of them and at the end of them for you to skip over if needed!

Stiles and Derek leave the restaurant nearly an hour later, having talked about everything from proper enchilada consumption technique to Stiles’ high school lacrosse team. Maria hugs them both as they leave and makes Stiles promise to come back soon and catch her up on the pack. He promises, but Derek can smell the sadness on him as he does. 

It’s quiet as they walk back to the jeep in the parking lot and when they get to it, Stiles tosses Derek the keys. “You okay to drive, man? I need a few minutes.” He smells anxious. 

Derek nods. “Of course. What can I do?” 

Stiles just shakes his head and gets in, seemingly trying to focus on calming down more than answering Derek’s question. Derek doesn’t know where he’s going, though, so he starts the jeep and sits patiently while Stiles sits with his eyes closed beside him. 

After a couple minutes Stiles sits up straighter and takes a shaky breath. He takes his phone out of his pocket, enters a location on his GPS and sets it up into the phone dock on the dashboard and hits go. 

He still smells just as anxious as he had a few minutes ago, so Derek doesn’t say anything as he pulls out of the parking lot. 

He follows the GPS, trying to remember big landmarks in the area so he knows where he is. Stiles is starting to smell more relaxed next to him some, but he still has his eyes closed and his hands are still shaking, so Derek still doesn’t say anything. 

They’re not in town anymore, the buildings slowly disappearing in the rear view mirror. It’s raining lightly, but there’s thick tree cover even on the winding roads that is blocking the rain. The GPS says they’re ten minutes from the Beacon Hills Nature Preserve. 

A police SUV pulls out from a hidden driveway and immediately turns on their lights. Derek checks the speedometer and curses as he slows down and flicks on his turn signal. 

Stiles opens his eyes and twists to look behind them.

“I wasn’t speeding, I swear,” Derek says. “I’m so sorry.”

Stiles shakes his head as Derek puts the jeep in park, pulled off as far as he can without going into the ditch. “You’re driving my mom’s jeep through Beacon Hills. Half the police department took turns teaching me how to drive in this thing. It’s probably just someone saying hi.”

Derek doesn’t relax completely, still nervous that Stiles may be wrong.

Still, as soon as the officer steps out of the SUV and makes eye contact with Derek through the side mirror, Derek feels calm — pack, his wolf says. Stiles laughs a little. “See, it’s just Parrish.”

Derek rolls down the window as Parrish steps up to it. He extends a hand to Derek, who shakes it immediately. “Nice to meet you, Derek.” His badge, displayed proudly, says Beacon Hills Sheriff. 

“You too,” Derek answers, genuine. 

“I know you have to get to the stupid tree soon, but Chris heard some rumors of hunters coming out here. He’s going to stay in the area until you guys head back to the house tomorrow, but I wanted you guys to be aware.”

Fuck. “Anyone we know?” Stiles asks, seeming unbothered.

Parrish shrugs. “Chris was pretty cryptic about it. Seems like his sources have been giving him some trouble lately, so.” He shrugs a little.

“Lovely,” Stiles says, sighing. “You headed to the house, now?”

“Off in an hour and then I’ll pick Melissa up and head over. She’s coming off a sixteen hour shift at the hospital.”

Stiles nods. “Okay. Drive by the old train station and check it out, will you? They always think that’s a good place to hide out.”

Parrish nods. “I have guys checking out the warehouse block and the station. Braeden did some driveways in the other known hang-out areas, but didn’t see anything worth checking out.”

“They’re getting smarter.”

“We’re always smarter,” Parrish answers back quickly. “See you guys tomorrow back at the firehouse.” He nods at Derek. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” Derek says, shaking his hand again. 

He waits until Parrish pulls back on the road and turns around before he puts the jeep in drive and pulls back on the road. 

“Parrish replaced my dad,” Stiles says. “Sometimes I still hate seeing that fucking badge.”

“My parents owned an architecture firm. I couldn’t go past the building, even once their names were off the side of it.” Derek answers.

Stiles nods, fingers tapping the side of door. “Pretty weird the things we hold onto, huh?”

Derek nods.

Stiles scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t wanna die, dude.” He laughs a little, but it sounds mostly broken. 

Derek takes Stiles’ left hand in his and squeezes. 

 

The walk to the Nemeton is easy enough for Derek, even with the backpack and the duffel bag. Stiles trips on every other exposed tree root and the curses he’s muttering under his breath over it are getting more and more explicit. 

“I wanted to carve out a trail,” Stiles says after a few minutes. “But was vetoed by the ‘wolves. ‘It’s not that bad’ the genetically superior in every way idiots say.”

Derek huffs a laugh. “Isn’t the point to keep it a secret?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says. “That was their excuse too. I’m practically a fucking wizard, I could come up with a disguise spell.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Fuck off, Derek Hale,” Stiles says, but he sounds amused. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Derek laughs. “Right, sorry. You are always right, and all the others are just blinded by their own idiocy to see your brilliance.”

Stiles laughs loudly. “Yeah, see, that’s more like it.”

He trips over three more tree roots before he waves a hand and says “Here she is.”

To be fair, Stiles had never really given identifying information on the Nemeton, so Derek was really just making it up on his own — but that last thing he would’ve expected was a giant stump. “Oh.” He says.

Stiles grins. “Yeah, I know, I made it sound like it was some gorgeous tree, right?” He kicks up some leaves. “Nah, some asshole cut it down way before we were around. But she kept her power and our ritual sacrifice reawakened her, and now…she’s just fine, even if she’s only a few feet tall.”

“What’s down there?” Derek says, nodding toward what looks to be a partially hidden door in the dirt. 

“Root cellar,” Stiles says. “Mostly destroyed now. Not safe to go in, at least.”

“Did you build it?”

“No, the old druids that discovered it did. We accidentally destroyed it though.”

“Of course you did.” Derek says, laughing a little. 

Stiles grins and shrugs. “Alright, we should get started before it starts getting too dark. I trip enough as it is.” He glances around and nods toward a tree to their left. “Scott thinks that’s the best tree. Isaac likes the one next to it. You can pick for yourself and get comfy. I can take it from here.” He slips the duffel bag off Derek’s shoulder. “I’ll just be setting stuff up.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No,” Stiles says, already unzipping the bag and puling things from it. “I need it to be perfect.”

“Can’t say I didn’t try,” Derek says, moving to inspect the two trees that Stiles pointed out. He looks up and down them both for a minute and tries to decide which would be better for keeping an eye on Stiles — it would help if he knew where Stiles would be, but he seems focused, so Derek won’t bother him. 

“You’re going to be sitting in it, not making love to it,” Stiles says, grinning up from the ground. 

Derek rolls his eyes with a huff and hefts himself into the tree closest to him at the moment — Isaac’s favorite. 

He climbs several feet, testing each branch with a tug before using it to support his weight. 

“That’s the branch Isaac likes,” Stiles says, raising his voice for Derek to hear him. “The one you’re holding with your right hand.” He amends, laughing, when Derek turns to look at him with narrowed eyes. He has each limb on a different branch. 

He hefts himself onto it and looks around — it gives him a good view of the clearing around the  
Nemeton and is high enough that he can see into the trees, too. He considers climbing down and trying out Scott’s tree, too, but doesn’t want Stiles to make fun of him, so he hangs the backpack from a branch above him and settles in. 

Stiles is setting a ring of candles around the base of the tree, one candle every few inches. Once he gets around the whole thing, be pulls a stake from the bag and starts carving symbols into the ground, tongue sticking out slightly while he focuses. It’s cute.

Derek pulls his phone out and texts Scott. 

**< < Made it to Nemeton. Not sure if you wanted to stay updated. Stiles looks busy.**

**> > Thanks, man. Keep me updated for sure. Don’t freak out about the ritual, btw. He’s fine. **

**< < Comforting.**

Another text comes in, this time from a number he doesn’t have saved. 

**> > He’s gonna pour his blood all over that tree, dude. It’s freaky as fuck.**  
**> > BTW, it’s Isaac. Did you pick my tree or Scott’s?**

**< < Yours. But only because Stiles was starting to make fun of me for staring at them both for so long.**

Scott texts him now. 

**> > He made it sexual, didn’t he?**  
**> > He does that. **

Apparently all texts are being shared. He glances up to watch Stiles again, smiling a little. Stiles is looping a braided rope around a root. The dirt has been dug up from beneath it to make room for the rope. The rope appears to be hand-braided and Derek can only imagine what types of materials it has. By the smell of the things coming out of the duffel bag, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to touch any of it. 

**> > They started telling me a little about the ritual. You’re gonna lose your shit.**

**< < Comforting, Cora. Thank you.**

**> > I am always here for you, big brother!**

The next three texts come from three new numbers entirely and then there’s a notification that he’s been added to a group chat. 

**> > Cora’s laughing manically. It’s just some blood. Do you hate blood? That should be a question we ask new pack members.**  
**> > So much blood in this pack, man. It’s not even fair.**  
**> > You guys are being unfair. Stop freaking him out.**

**< < I’m fine.**

He is. Mostly. Still, he slips his phone back in his pocket in order to focus on making sure Stiles is safe.

“How’s the tree sitting?” Stiles calls up, grinning. He’s tying the rope to a tree several feet away now, looping it around and pulling the knot tight, using his entire body to yank at it. 

“Great. Very nice tree. Isaac has nice taste.”

“They’re texting you and bothering you, huh?” He says, still grinning. 

“Just telling me that you’re going to bleed out or something,” Derek says, keeping his voice casual. 

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, that’s it.” He goes back to the duffel bag and pulls the leather knife case out and sets it on the trunk, though, so Derek’s not sure if he’s serious.

“You almost ready?” Derek asks, balancing his phone on the tree branch next to him. As far as tree branches go, this one really is quite comfortable. He eyes the branches on the tree to his left, but it’s too hard to judge their comfort levels.

“Yeah, actually. I’m going to do the blood thing now. It really is a lot of blood, so…don’t freak out. If I pass out, then you should come down here and get me immediate help. That’s only happened once, though, so…odds are in our favor for sure.”

Derek narrows his eyes. “Uh, is it really just…pass out or nothing? There’s no other warning sign?”

Stiles shrugs. “Kinda. Once I finish the chant, I’ll stop bleeding and move on to the next thing. Just don’t interrupt me.”

Derek nods, too worried to say anything of worth.

Stiles salutes and takes a deep breath. He strips off his sweatshirt and his shirt and toes off his shoes and socks. He jumps onto the trunk of the Nemeton and grabs one of the knives from the case and stands in the middle.

He stands there, perfectly still, drawing some sort of shape with a finger in the air while saying something, low and long. After a few minutes, he takes a deep breath and lifts the knife. 

*Derek has to look away when he slices his arm, but looks back only seconds later, too worried about him to really avoid the situation. Stiles is moving his arm slowly, rotating around the trunk and letting the blood drip around the top of the tree. “A lot of blood” is really an understatement. Once the circle of blood is complete, he sways a little, looking pale, but holds his un-cut arm up toward Derek, presumably to say that he’s fine, and starts chanting. His voice is low, almost inaudible, but what Derek can hear isn’t even English, so he’s not missing much.*

Just like Stiles promised, as soon as he finishes chanting, the blood stops dripping from his arm and it heals completely, just like it would had the knife sliced across Derek instead. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Really important you stay in that tree unless something goes wrong, now,” Stiles says. “The ground is charged and the magic is hard to control. If my eyes go completely black or I pass out, I need help. It’ll be painful for you, I think, but…I need help if that happens, so.”

“I’ll help you.” Derek promises. “I promise.”

Stiles grins a little and nods. “My nose bleeds when I do a lot with magic. I promise it’s nothing to worry about. It stops when I stop and I know my limits.”

Derek nods, remembering the smell of magic in the alley and Stiles’ bloody nose. He had acted like he hadn’t even noticed it at the time, but of course he knew. 

He pulls a charcoal stick from the case of the knives and starts marking things onto the trunk, around the blood circle. They’re some sort of sigils or runes, Derek’s not really sure, but Stiles writes them quickly and neatly. He writes something in latin around the top of the circle and then sits in the center of it, eyes closed. A minute or so passes, and then there’s a dome of light around Stiles, see-through but there. A circle of mountain ash falls around it soon after, materializing out of who knows where.

Stiles starts chanting again and at first, nothing happens. Derek starts to think it might actually get boring until feels a low vibration in his chest, and then realizes that the leaves and pine needles on the trees are shaking. 

Birds start flying out of the surrounding area at mass quantities, squawking loudly as they fly up and away. If he focuses, he can hear smaller woodland creatures — probably squirrels, raccoons and vermin — scattering away from the clearing. The Nemeton has a slight glow to it now, and Stiles has his chin lifted up and eyes closed. 

He opens them suddenly and they’re dark, but Derek can see his iris’, so he forces himself to stay calm.

“I stand before you today to ask for your help,” Stiles says, eyes focused ahead of him. Derek follows his eye line and sees an orb of light. “My pack is in danger. You have protected these lands before. Stand with us and protect us again and we will owe ourselves to your preservation.”

The orb moves quickly, almost too quickly for Derek to follow, and then it’s slamming into Stiles’ chest. He falls back, but steadies himself quickly, one hand on his chest and the other on the bridge of his nose. 

Then he’s chanting in another language again, and Derek finds himself searching the tree line for more orbs. He has no idea what Stiles just pledged the packs protection over, but he assumes Stiles knows what he’s doing and wouldn’t endanger them needlessly. Probably. 

Now there’s a rustling of leaves on the ground and the trees are vibrating again, so much so that Derek has to grab his phone so it doesn’t slip off the branch and fall. He’s not sure he’ll look at it again now that Stiles is actually performing the rituals, but…it would be nice to have nearby, just incase. 

Stiles’ nose is bleeding now, just a slow trickle. He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he ignores it. He’s still chanting, eyes closed and chin lifted. 

When his eyes snap open again, the darkness from before is gone. He lifts his right hand slowly, fingers shaking, and once it’s raised just over his shoulders, the leaves that had been rustling before are now spinning around the base of the Nemeton, faster with each rotation. When they get too fast to really pick out what they are, Stiles says something in another language and they all fly outward, into the woods. 

Only a few seconds pass before several orbs come flying out of the trees and hit Stiles’ chest with greater force than the one before. He falls back again, his hand still raised, and starts chanting again. His nose bleeds more. 

The orbs come back out and fly straight out. The candles he’d set earlier are lit by the orbs, the fire burning different shades of blue and purple, the flames much higher than you would get from candles normally. Stiles moves to the edge of the Nemeton and starts speaking again, voice far too low for Derek to hear. The flames grow higher and higher as he speaks, some reaching close to four feet, and then suddenly he stops talking and several minutes pass in silence. 

Derek glances at his phone in his hand — it’s 7:32. When Stiles starts speaking again, a full ten minutes have passed since Derek checked it. The flames all go out at once when Stiles finishes speaking, and the braided rope he’d tied around the Nemeton and the tree is now shaking. It’s glowing a blue color, too, but if he tries to focus on it too long, the glow disappears. He leans out and touches the rope tentatively, fingers jumping back as soon as they touch. He nods a little and then moves back to the center, where he places his forehead on the center of the stump. His body is vibrating now, too, and has that same blue glow when Derek focuses on something just past him, rather than looking right at him. The rune tattoos are all glowing too, in the same weird way — if he looks at them, they’re flat, normal tattoos. If he glances past them or looks at something else, he can see them pulsing. 

He stays with his head down on the Nemeton for several minutes, until the rope stops vibrating and then he’s breathing heavily, sitting back on his heels. He raises his right hand again and chants something again, and this time Derek recognizes it as Latin. He can only pick out a few words — moon, wolf, dark, light, time — but still, he’s sure it’s Latin. 

He stops suddenly and starts looking around, eyes on the trees around the clearing. Derek’s heartbeat quickens and he worries he was too distracted by the magic to notice someone approaching, but then Stiles kneels and puts the hand he had been raising down into the center of the tree trunk and Derek can see some sort of light is twisting up his arm.

He’s wincing and Derek can smell the pain coming off him in waves. When he opens his eyes again, he’s looking right at Derek. They’re getting darker as the seconds pass, and Derek finds himself leaning forward on the branch, ready to pounce if they go completely black. He doesn’t want to ruin Stiles’ ritual by stepping in unnecessarily, so he focuses solely on his eyes and the brown iris’ that are behind the darkness.

He stops chanting and closes his eyes, head dropping. His chest is heaving, and Derek can still smell the pain. The light that had been warping itself up Stiles’ arm is now some sort of vine, growing out of the center of the Nemeton. 

“More blood,” Stiles says, voice clipped. “I’m okay.” Stiles makes eye contact with him again then, and says again, “I’m okay, Derek.”

Derek nods, swallowing. He forces himself to scoot back onto the branch again, forces his shoulders to relax and his grip on the branch to loosen, too. 

Stiles reaches for the knife case again, using his foot to kick the other knife he had used before off the trunk completely. He pulls a smaller knife out and twists it around in his hand a couple times before holding it with a tight grip.

The chant this time is much, much longer. Derek’s not sure how many minutes pass, but it feels like an eternity. He doesn’t check his phone like he’s tempted to do, too afraid to miss something or a sign that Stiles needs help. Every thirty seconds he stops focusing on Stiles and listens for sounds in the trees around them and looks for something out of the ordinary, but there’s nothing.

Hunters are in town and he’s not going to be caught of guard by them. He’s not going to let hunters take more from him. Especially not Stiles. Especially not Stiles.

*When Stiles moves again it’s to cut his arm again. He slices the arm that’s got the vine wrapped around it. He follows the pattern of the vine, the blood spiraling around his arm and dripping over the vine. It’s an alarming amount of blood on it’s own, but especially alarming considering how much blood Stiles has already lost. Is he to assume the fast-healing from before also replenished his blood? He should have been asking more questions.*

The vine is getting thicker, covering his arm and the wounds there. It appears to be squeezing his arm, and Stiles’ facial expression confirms it. He’s wincing, pulling his neck away from that side of his body, like that will help relieve the pain. 

Derek smells them before he sees or hears them. 

“Company,” He says, just loud enough for Stiles to hear. Stiles’ eyes shoot open and he glances around, obviously concerned. He doesn’t speak, though, and Derek’s unsure if it’s because it will interfere with…whatever is happening, or because he doesn’t want to give his location away. 

Derek drops his phone, unbothered by the sound it makes breaking as it hits the ground twenty feet below him and looks toward the tree line where he thinks the breeze is coming from. Stiles is still stuck to the damn tree and is completely vulnerable to an attack, which leaves Derek feeling terrified.

Just one. It’s just one, his wolf tells him, finally finding the heartbeat in the trees. He zeroes in there, trying to force his eyes to look through the thick branches and reveal the person. 

Derek tries to stay calm. Growing up, they would run training exercises. They lived peacefully in New York, right up until the end, but still, Thalia and Christopher did not believe in letting their pack live without knowing how to protect themselves. “Learn slow,” His dad had always said. “Anger will give you speed in the fight.”

There is plenty of anger. There is only anger. Stiles is chanting something again, fast and low. 

The person finally steps into view of Derek. He has a gun raised at Derek, completely ignoring Stiles. 

“Leave.” Derek growls, half standing on the branch. 

“And miss a show?” The guy says, voice sickly sweet. “This one’s already tied up for me to bring home. You’re just a road block.”

Stiles chants quicker, eyes squeezed shut. 

Derek trusts that Stiles wasn’t wrong about the ground being charged inside the clearing. The Hunter could shoot Derek, sure, but he doesn’t seem like the type. A hunter that has a gun but doesn’t use it immediately probably has something to prove. 

“I’ll give you one more chance.” Derek growls, eyes flashing red.

The hunter’s eyes light up at the sight. “An Alpha, huh? In my woods?”

Derek growls louder, almost involuntarily. His wolf is taking over, seeing red. Protect your mate. Protect your mate. Protect your mate, dammit.

The hunter shoots. Derek is already moving away, having seen him move his finger toward the trigger, but a bullet is still faster than his reflexes. It rips through his left shoulder and Derek feels the sweatshirt get wet and heavy with his blood immediately. The force of it and surprise of the pain causes him to fall backward. He hits branches on his way down, but it’s still a twenty foot fall when it’s said and done — the branches really just leave him with a few extra scrapes and bruises, rather than a cushioned fall. 

He’s able to protect his head from hitting the ground on instinct alone. When Stiles said the ground was charged, he meant it. It burns where it touches Derek’s exposed skin and when he scrambles to stand and launch himself at the hunter, his balance is off — it’s shaking him.

Still, his mate is his main priority, and currently he’s tied to a fucking tree with a magical branch, so the hot ground is the least of his worries. The hunter looks surprised when Derek scrambles up and over the Nemeton, clearing Stiles’ crouched body easily. 

Derek shoves him back into the trees, claws ripping at his clothing. He’s wearing thick protective gear, but it won’t hold up forever. He finally knocks the gun away from the guy, who’s shouting for help — which, bad sign. 

He gets a few good hits on Derek, but blind rage still gives Derek the advantage. Anger gives you speed, he hears his dad saying. Learn slow, Derek. Remember your training. Know your wolf. 

The hunter pulls a knife from a sheath around his leg and stabs it into Derek’s side and Derek stumbles back, brining the hunter with him. He lands back in the clearing, the hunter on top of him, twisting the knife in his side and yelling in his face. 

The ground is hot. So fucking hot. Stiles is still chanting, voice broken and full of worry, words breaking off in frustrated nosies. He thinks Stiles starts over the same line three times before getting it right. 

The hunter shoves something in Derek’s face, and immediately Derek recognizes the scent of wolfsbane. He holds his breath and struggles to get the guy off of him, but the knife must be laced with something, too, and of course the bullet was, because his arm is weakening and the claws on that arm are blunt nails when he tries to swipe at the guys throat. 

He passes out with the wolfsbane over his mouth and nose. 

 

He wakes up with a new rage that he hasn’t felt before. He thought he had felt all rage possible when his family was killed.

His mate is in trouble. His mate is in trouble and a fucking banshee predicted his death this morning, and if he dies on Derek’s watch, Derek better die too, because he’s not living another day with more death on his hands. 

When he pounces on the hunter that has a knife to Stiles’ throat, he realizes that he’s not human. 

He’s not even a little bit human.

The hunter shouts in surprise, digging the knife across Derek’s face — but it’s not Derek’s face, it’s the face of his true wolf, and it only makes Derek angrier. He hears another heartbeat, several hundred feet away, it’s erratic and scared and Derek can pinpoint it’s location easily, even through the thick tree cover. 

He’s shot in the back as he rips out the first hunter’s throat. It’s a shotgun, he thinks by the sound of it, some sort of buckshot, probably, because there’s several tiny bullets in his back and they all burn with the pain of wolfsbane, or maybe mistletoe. All he knows is that it hurts. 

He tracks the second hunter easily and rips his throat out too, dragging him into the clearing to leave his body on the magically charged ground to ensure he stays dead. 

Stiles is shouting his name. 

The ground is hot and he can feel his skin peeling as it burns. He’s exhausted. 

He climbs onto the Nemeton, aware that it’s the only place he can get too easily that doesn’t feel hot on his skin — fur? — And curls around Stiles, unsure if it ruins the rituals to be here. He doesn’t care, not right now. Stiles still has the vine around his arm, and maybe if he’s here, wrapped around his mate, no one will attempt to get close to him. 

Stiles is still shouting, but it’s so hard to focus on the words. There’s only pain and then there’s nothing.

 

He wakes up to Stiles dragging him in the woods. Slowly, but still, dragging him. Stiles has his arms around Derek’s chest, wrapped under his arms, and is walking backwards through the woods. It only takes a few seconds for his brain to supply that Stiles is moving slowly partly because of Derek’s weight, partly because he’s clumsy, and partly because he’s exhausted from the magic he had been able to finish. 

Derek’s human again, which is both surprising and upsetting, considering he was completely unsure what a transformation like that would feel like. He takes one more deep breath and then he struggles to stand up in order to give Stiles a break.

Stiles immediately stops moving and sets him down gently on the forrest floor instead. “Fuck you,” He says, scrubbing tears out of his eyes. He smells frustrated more than anything. “Are you okay? No, you’re not fucking okay. You’re fucking bleeding out.” He wraps his arms around Derek’s chest again and yanks him again.

Derek passes out again before he can argue.

 

Derek wakes up in the jeep, slumped up against the center console. He takes a breath and forces himself to sit up. His arm is already healing, slowly, but still healing. His back and side are bleeding still which is obviously troublesome, and his vision is hazy and senses weak, probably due to the wolfsbane. The burns from the charged ground on his back are still healing, but his hands and face seem mostly healed, thankfully. 

Stiles tears his eyes away from the road. “Ten minutes, Der, please.”

Derek nods. He’s not sure what is going to happen ten minutes from now, but Stiles seems sure of it, so, that’s enough for him. 

Ten minutes feel like an eternity when you’re bleeding out in the car of a guy you had a crush on four days ago and found out was your mate this morning. Derek’s not sure if that part matters, but his brain is telling him that they’re important details, so he holds onto them. 

“Did you finish?” Derek asks, letting his head flop back at a weird angle in order to see Stiles more clearly. 

Stiles nods, but he smells frustrated. He takes a sharp turn and Derek’s body flops like jello to the other side and he groans, vision going hazy. 

“Fuck,” Stiles says, grabbing Derek’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, too focused on trying to will the pain to subside. 

 

When Stiles pulls the jeep to a final stopping point and throws it into park, he’s jumping out in the same second. “Be right back, promise.” He says, and Derek wants to argue, but Stiles is already gone, the door of the jeep still open behind him. 

He hears Stiles pounding on a door and yelling. “Argent, open the fucking door!” And oh. Oh.

He hears the door open. “What? What’s wrong?”

“The fucking hunters, that’s what,” Stiles is saying, his voice getting closer. “They shot him and stabbed him and, I don’t know, drugged him.”

The passenger door opens. “Derek, nice to meet you. You mind if I help you inside?”

Derek can appreciate the kindness, but he’s bleeding out. Haste, Chris, haste. He nods and starts to push himself out of the car, wincing through the pain. 

Chris loops an arm under his and Stiles loops under his other side and they help him inside.

“Where are they?” Chris asks. 

“Dead in my clearing.” Stiles says, sounding annoyed and thankful all at once. 

“Guest room, here we go,” Chris says, nodding toward the hallway. He’s hazy and feels faint. 

It’s not long until they are sitting him onto a bed. He groans, holding his side, as Stiles tosses towels onto the bed and Chris lays them out to protect the comforter. As soon as he’s got them laid down, he pushes Derek gently down, apologizing when Derek winces at the pressure on his shoulder. 

“I’ll need to dig out those bullets in your back,” Chris says, already cutting Derek’s shirt and sweatshirt off. “And we need to flush this wound here. Probably some sort of poison delaying the healing.”

Stiles is just standing next to him, hands shaking. He’s bleeding — his neck is bleeding. Derek remembers the hunter standing with a knife to Stiles’ throat, but he had though he had gotten there in time. He tries to push himself up to get a closer look, maybe draw some of the pain. “You’re bleeding,” He says, his voice strained. 

“I’m fine, Der, you got them, please lay down, please.” Stiles is shoving him down again, wiping at his neck with his hand. Derek can smell the pain on him, though. Chris narrows his eyes at Stiles’ wound and nods a little at Derek, but then he’s pushing Derek down too, onto his stomach. 

“My cell phone phone is on the kitchen counter,” Chris says. “Go call Scott.”

Stiles hesitates. Derek nods at him — the pack will be able to feel how weak he is. Cora is probably worried sick. He goes.

“Not the way I wanted to meet, Derek,” Chris says, pulling a med kit from beneath the bed. 

Derek didn’t really want to meet him at all, if he’s honest, so he says nothing. 

Chris uses to tweezers to start picking out the tiny rounds in Derek’s back, each one stinging more than the one before.

Stiles is back, phone in one hand and bottle of peroxide in the other. He drops the peroxide by Chris’ feet and goes around the bed to sit on the other side. He puts his hand on Derek’s neck as he dials Scott’s number. 

He puts it on speaker, probably for Chris’ benefit, but still, Derek is glad that he won’t have to strain to hear the conversation.

“Chris? We can’t get ahold of Stiles and Derek and something is wrong, you need —”

“It’s me, buddy,” Stiles says, his voice coming out in a rush. 

“Fuck,” Scott says. “Derek?”

“Hurt, but alive,” Stiles answers quickly. “Chris is working on it.”

“You?” Scott asks, sounding more concerned. 

“I’ll be fine.”

“Bleeding from the neck,” Derek growls. “Still.”

Stiles wipes at it again, wincing. “I’ll be fine.”

“Derek?” Cora’s voice is quiet and scared.

“I’m here,” He says, wincing as Chris pours peroxide over his back. 

“Are you okay? You just — you were gone for a few minutes.”

“I’m okay,” He says, already feeling his body respond to the work Chris did. He can feel his skin pulling back together, tight and fresh. 

“I’m going to help Chris with this,” Stiles says, sitting up more in order to get a better view of Derek’s side. “But we’re okay. Derek took care of it.”

“Call us when you know what your plan is,” Scott says.

“They’re both staying in bed for the night,” Chris answers, voice authoritative. “No way these two are driving an hour back there tonight.”

Stiles nods, but Derek deflates a little. It goes against everything in his head to sleep under an Argent’s watch, even if he does feel his wolf accepting him as pack. It’s confusing and frustrating and too exhausting to explore at the moment.

“Okay,” Scott answers. “Isaac, Jackson, Liam and I will come down early tomorrow — one of us will drive them back and the rest of us will run some perimeters and clean up the clearing.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Bring Draco, will you?”

Derek twists to squeeze Stiles’ leg. Stiles puts his hand on top of Derek’s on his leg. 

“Of course, man,” Scott answers quickly. “Anything else?”

“How’s Lydia feeling?”

It’s quiet. She still feels that he’s going to die, then. The hunters Derek took out were never the threat. 

“Fuck,” Stiles says. “No. That’s all. See you, man.” He hangs up and tosses the phone at the foot of the bed. “How’s he looking?”

Chris is dabbing at his side, the knife wound tender and sensitive. The skin keeps pulling shut and reopening because of whatever toxin the knife was carrying. It’s painful and exhausting. 

“This will probably burn,” He says, dabbing at it again, this time with a wet cloth — peroxide. It burns and he winces away. Without warning, he pour a little into the wound. He flushes it out with water a few seconds later, and this time, as his skin pulls itself back together, it sticks. “You eaten yet, Stiles?”

“No, sir,” Stiles answers, unmoving. 

Chris shakes his head a little. “Go find something. You’re gonna pass out from the adrenaline rush ending at any time. Get some protein and sugar in there before that happens.” 

Stiles obeys, surprising Derek. 

When they hear the cabinets in the kitchen opening, Chris dabs at the wound on his side with a dry towel and sits back on his heels on the floor. “I know you don’t trust me,” He says, making eye contact. “I know what she did to you. I’d lay my life on the line for these kids. You’re included in that. You ever have trouble in Beacon Hills again, you can find me here or at the shooting range. No questions asked.”

Derek closes his eyes and take a deep breath. His face is still healing, mostly just a tender wound across his entire face now, and his back seems to have recovered almost completely. His shoulder is sore but whole, and his side is on it’s way. He pushes himself to a sitting position and extends a hand to Chris, who smiles a little and shakes it.

Stiles comes back, arms carefully balancing the stack of food he’s brought back. “Hungry, big guy?” He asks, carefully dropping half the stack and keeping hold of a large tupperware. By the smell, it’s a beef stew. 

Derek shakes his head, but takes a spoon when Stiles hands it to him and sits next to him.

“Okay. I’m going to set the alarm and go out to the clearing. If they had friends, they’re probably trying to get their bodies now. I want to know if there’s more of them. How many bodies?”

“Two.” Derek answers. “Both in the clearing.”

Chris nods. “Did you go for the throat?”

Derek clenches his jaw, feeling judged — every part of him tells him that Argent can’t be trusted with information on how he killed someone, but then he remembers Stiles telling him the new code Chris lives by and nods. 

Chris nods and pulls himself to a standing position using the bedside table. “Eat and then rest. Both of you. If the alarm goes off, get yourselves into the basement, right, Stiles?”

“Yes, sir.” Stiles says, nodding. 

“Your sure your neck is okay, kid?”

“Yes, sir.” Stiles says. “I can tell.”

Chris nods once, staring at both of them in the bed for a few seconds longer before he sighs a little and shuts the door behind him. 

 

It’s quiet between them as Stiles eats the stew, hands still shaking. He sets the container on the other bedside table and stands, stripping his pants off — they’re torn and dirty and have blood all over them. He pushes the comforter down enough to get his legs under it and pulls a box of Fruit Loops up to his chest, digging a hand in it and eating it by the handful.

Derek takes a breath and pushes himself up, his back and side still extremely tender, and strips off his own pants. His underwear is wet with blood along the waistband, too, but he leaves them on anyway. 

Stiles shoves the towels off the bed and pulls the comforter back on Derek’s side, too. Derek picks up a towel that looks mostly clean from the pile and lays it on the sheets where his waist will hit, trying to protect Chris’ bedspread from his blood as much as possible. 

He lays down, body still feeling the effects from the copious amounts of wolfsbane. His back hurts to lay on, but he wants to be able to easily see Stiles, so he props his head up with pillows and lays on his back anyway. 

Stiles drops the box of cereal onto the floor next to him and kicks the other food — a bag of chips, an entire loaf of bread, and a box of cookies — off the end of the bed, in favor of getting further beneath the covers. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispers. “About your neck.”

Stiles huffs. “You got fucking shot, Derek. And stabbed. Twice. Each.”

“I’ll heal.”

It’s quiet again. 

“Uh, the wolf thing —” Stiles starts, and Derek’s surprised it hadn’t come up sooner. He’s still trying to figure it out. “Is that a born Were thing?”

Derek shakes his head a little. “I’d never done it before.” His voice is low.

Stiles curses under his breath. “It was fuckin’ amazing.” 

Derek closes his eyes. “I wasn’t in control of it. I had no idea.”

“You think it has to do with your eyes?” Stiles asks.

Derek shrugs. “I guess. My mom could full shift, but we grew up knowing that was rare. I never dreamed….I never would have thought it would happen.”

“Do you think it was because you were in danger?”

Derek shakes his head, very sure that’s not the case. 

“Why not? It could have been like, an instinctual response to save yourself.”

“I was never worried about myself.” Derek says, quiet. “I was trying to save you.” His wolf was protecting it’s mate. There was never a question of self-preservation. Derek would’ve died in Stiles’ place without second thought. 

Stiles exhales a shaky breath and turns, snaking his hand over Derek’s chest to end up over his heart. “This okay?” He asks, yawning. 

Derek puts his hand over Stiles’ on his chest and turns to his side too. His side is still tender, but it’s still more comfortable than sleeping on his back. “Perfect.” He says, voice quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and poem are from Richard Siken's Planet of Love. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for sharing your excitement and hopes with me!


	8. if it hurts, we're doing it to ourselves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> He was not dead yet, not exactly—  
> parts of him were dead already, certainly other parts were still only waiting  
> for something to happen, something grand, but it isn’t  
> always about me,  
> he keeps saying, though he’s talking about the only heart he knows—
> 
> He could build a city. Has a certain capacity. There’s a niche in his chest  
> where a heart would fit perfectly  
> and he thinks if he could just maneuver one into place—  
> well then, game over.  
> 

When he wakes up in the morning, Stiles is snoring quietly next to him. He’s healed completely now, no signs of last nights attack left. He’s starving, though, and he feels disgusting caked with dirt and blood. He slips out of the bed quietly, aware that Stiles needs the rest more than him at this point — Lydia and Scott had both made it clear that the magic and rituals exhaust him. 

The clock on the bedside table says it’s already 10am, which doesn’t surprise Derek. Healing and shifting takes a lot out of you, and last nights injuries, paired with the full-shift, left him on Empty.

He sneaks to the door quietly, twisting the doorknob carefully and opening it slowly to avoid it creaking. He can hear the hushed voices of Cora, Scott, Isaac and Liam in the kitchen. He finds a bathroom across the hall, the light on and door open — probably for his sake — and is relieved to find a backpack he recognizes from his and Cora’s apartment there. Inside is his travel toiletry bag and a fresh set of clothes. There’s a folded towel on the sink counter top. 

He’s starving, but washing the blood that looks permanently dyed into his skin and dried into his hair seems more important, especially if he’s going to face his pack, so he turns on the shower and strips off his underwear, disgusted by the smell of old blood and grime. 

The hot water on his freshly healed skin feels great, and scrubbing the blood off of his skin and scrubbing his scalp feels even better, but he still takes the quickest shower he can manage. He’d much rather be with his pack — or Stiles.

He towels himself down and slips into the clothes Cora had packed, thankful that it’s a comfortable sweatshirt and a nicer pair of his joggers. He’s not still injured, but the idea of jeans or something a stiffer shirt still makes him wince. 

He makes his way to the kitchen next, the voices quieting again once he’s out of the bathroom.   
Cora waits until he’s in the kitchen to pounce, but just barely. She wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight, smelling entirely of fear.

“I’m okay,” He says, smoothing back her hair. “I’m fine.”

“Chris said it was bad,” Liam says from where he’s still sitting at the kitchen table. Chris doesn’t make eye contact with Derek from the coffee pot.

“Not the best I’ve ever felt,” He agrees, taking the mug of coffee that Chris offers him. 

“What happened?” Scott asks. “Chris said he has no idea how much Stiles got done or how long you guys were out there.” 

“Im not actually sure either,” Derek admits. “I have no idea.”

“They showed up here close to eleven thirty.” Chris says, pulling something from the oven. Cinnamon rolls, his nose tells him immediately.

It seems like way too long. “I last looked at my phone at 7:30,” He says. “I thought they showed up not long after.”

“The magic messes with your concept of time,” Scott says, nodding. “Even when it feels like it’s taking forever, it’s actually taking even longer.”

Chris sets the dish of cinnamon rolls on an oven mitt on the kitchen table. “Sausage and eggs coming up next,” He says, moving to the fridge. “And Derek, that phone there is for you.”

There’s a brand new phone charging on the table, Derek’s old one next to it, shattered. 

“Oh,” He says, picking it up. “Thank you? How much do I owe you?”

Chris just shakes his head as he cracks eggs into the bowl.

“Not how it works, man,” Scott says. “Pack funds cover it.”

“Uh, where do those come from?” Derek asks, confused. “How much do I need to be contributing?”

Scott huffs. “Not important right now, dude. Can you tell us what happened?”

It feels important because Derek hates owing people, but in the scheme of things, he knows Scott’s questions about last night are far more important, so he pushes it out of his head. “He had been tied to the tree for a while when I first smelled the first guy. I told Stiles, but he was tied down, obviously, so,” He waves a hand. “He came out with his gun pointed at me from the start, like he didn’t even see Stiles. I gave him two chances to leave and then he shot me. Got my shoulder and caused me to fall. Went up and over the Nemeton to charge him. Tussled in the trees for a while, where he stabbed me, and then we ended up back in the clearing. He had some sort of wolfsbane infused cloth, and I passed out with him on top of me, still twisting the knife.” He looks at Cora as he says the next part, knowing she will be the only one that will understand the weight of what he says. “I woke up fully transformed.”

Cora gasps. “What, like — like mom?”

He nods.

“Fully transformed,” Isaac says. “Meaning…”

“Full wolf.” Cora says, voice quiet. 

Derek nods. “The hunter had a knife to Stiles’ throat, and Stiles was still wrapped up with the vine, but the surprise of it all gave me the advantage. Had his throat out within seconds. The second hunter shot me in the back, then, but then tracking him through the trees was easier as wolf, so he was over for soon after. I don’t —” He waves a hand. “It’s all a little hazy. I think I got back up on the Nemeton with Stiles. I woke up and he was dragging me — as a human — through the woods.” 

It’s quiet for a while, only the sounds of Chris frying eggs and the sizzling sausage between them all. 

“Is it a preservation thing?” Scott asks, finally breaking the silence. 

“I wasn’t worried about my own preservation,” Derek says, jaw tight.

“Stiles.” Scott says, but it’s not a question.

Still, Derek nods.

“Were you in control?” Cora asks, voice quiet still.

“No.” Derek answers, honestly. “There was only my wolf. I was aware of everything that happened, but…I woke up and knew my mate was in danger and everything that happened from that moment on was more instinct than human.”

It’s quiet as everyone works out what it means.

“You said your mom could do it?” Isaac asks, eyes on Cora.

She nods a little. “But it’s rare. And I haven’t…it takes years and years of discipline and strength as an Alpha. I’ve never heard of it happening like it did for Derek.” She sounds worried, like Derek would be mad that she’s telling them how unlikely it would be for him. 

“You heard of this, Chris?” Scott asks, leaning back in his chair to look at Chris at the stove.

He shakes his head. “There were always rumors of full shift Were’s, but it was more of a joke in the Hunter community than something we knew to actually exist.” He shrugs a little. “It’s not unheard of, even in a human sense, though — you don’t have to look hard for stories of people performing great acts of strength or amazing feats of bravery in order to save themselves or their partner or kids.”

It’s an interesting way to frame it. Derek half hopes he never goes full wolf again and half hopes he learns to control it at will.

“You okay, Derek?” Cora asks, squeezing his hand on the table.

“It was only a few minutes. Barely any time at all.” He clenches his jaw. “But it was to protect him. That’s all that I was thinking. If something happens…” He’s not sure how to finish the thought.

“You think you would lose control.” Cora says, barely audible.

Isaac exhales audibly and Scott starts pounding his fist on the table lightly. 

Derek nods, even though it wasn’t a question.

Stiles is awake, he can feel it before he can hear it, and a few seconds later, Scott seems to notice too. 

“Stiles can give us his side and we’ll go from there,” Scott says, swallowing. “We’ve beaten Lydia’s predictions before, Derek. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Derek nods, but he still feels unstable.

Stiles showers too and the five of them are mostly quiet as Chris serves eggs and sausage and sets out plates before returning to the stove to start more eggs. Derek’s starving, but his wolf tells him to wait for his mate, so he does. Listening to his wolf is becoming more and more vital to his daily life — there was a time when he ignored it completely, thinking being human was enough to survive, but then his whole family was murdered. He won’t make the same mistakes again. 

 

Stiles joins them shortly after, wearing sweats and a long-sleeved thermal shirt. Scott was standing and waiting for him before he’s even completely out of the bathroom down the hall, and the two hug, holding each other tight for a few seconds before thumping their fists on each others backs and pulling apart. Stiles bumps his fist into Isaac and Liam and squeezes Cora’s shoulder lightly. 

He steps up behind Derek and puts his hands on his shoulders, thumbs working into the tense muscles there. “Hey,” He says, huffing a little. 

“How do you feel?” Scott asks.

“I mean, Derek’s the one that got shot and stabbed,” He says, working his thumbs harder into Derek’s shoulders. 

“They got your neck,” Derek says, jaw clenched.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says, lifting one hand off of Derek’s shoulder, presumably to touch it. “It’s not that bad. It was an accident more than intentional.”

“Derek said you were doing the grounding spell when they showed.” Isaac prompts, clearly uninterested in the formalities.

Stiles sits down next to Derek and grabs a piece of sausage and nods. “Yeah. I was trying to finish so I could be of more use, but I can only go so fast and have it work.” He takes a bite. “When the Hunter drugged him, I was almost done, but the guy just stood out of the clearing and waited. He wanted to take me back with him, wherever he was going. I can’t stay in the subconscious that long, not without losing important brain function here, so I had to keep going and just hope that Derek would wake up sooner rather than later and be able to help me. The vine was starting to loosen when I noticed Derek first stirring. When the Hunter noticed, I could have gotten free if I forced it, but I wasn’t about to tell him.” He looks at Derek’s hands at the table as he talks, his own fingers shaking. “One second Derek was stirring, the next he was transforming to full wolf. The Hunter put his knife at my throat, hoping to stop Derek, I guess, but it was like…he didn’t even take a second to see what was happening. The Hunter was gone and Derek was getting shot within seconds of waking up.”

“My charging made him cut you,” Derek realizes, upset.

“Which is so not the important thing here,” Isaac says, waving a hand at Derek. “The Hunter was able to get close enough to touch you. What happened to your protection dome?”

“Dropped it when he had Derek pinned. I was trying to pull back as much magic as possible because it was Derek that was pinned on the clearing floor. I could smell his skin burning.” He waves a hand. “Don’t know how much good it did, because Derek’s skin was still peeling off and regenerating at gross speeds.” 

Derek hadn’t really noticed, but it explains how fresh everything feels.

“But you finished?” Scott asks, voice hopeful.

“Hate to say it, but it’s the most powerful and in control I’ve ever felt.” Stiles says. “And on the side of full-transparency for all — Derek entered the dome without issue.”

Derek remembers the face of the Hunter as he scrambled over the Nemeton and leapt over Stiles — he hadn’t even noticed the light dome was still up.

“He — what?” Liam says, looking between Derek and Stiles. “I nearly lost a hand when I accidentally touched it and he just — enters?”

Huh. Stiles nods. “I assume because of the bond. We could do some tests to see, but…both Derek and I should probably hold off for a day or so before pushing the limits again.” He takes a cinnamon roll and Derek’s fork and starts eating.

“What’s our plan for the day?” Cora asks, after they all watch Stiles eat for a few minutes.

“Chris is going to drive Derek and Stiles back in his SUV. The rest of us are going to head out to the clearing and see if we can find anything of worth.”

“Their bodies are out back.” Chris says casually. “But I couldn’t find anything else.”

“Hopefully we can smell something you couldn’t.”

Chris nods. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“What’d you guys come up without me for my death party?”

“What?” Liam asks, narrowing his eyes.

Stiles looks bored. “Alpha pack arrival, dude. Keep up.”

Isaac glares. “You’re not seriously calling the Alpha Pack arriving your death party, are you?”

Stiles waves a hand, as if to say ‘obviously’.

“Dude, could you not?” Scott says, kicking the table leg. “It’s a downer.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’m the one that’s going to die. Let me talk about it the way I want.”

“It’s depressing.” Scott says. 

“Preaching to the choir, my man,” Stiles says, sounding bored. “You ready to head out, Chris? I want to sleep for a few more hours.”

It’s awkward and quiet in the room, but Chris nods from where he’s washing pans in the sink. “You got it.” He drops the pans and turns off the water. “I’ll meet you guys at the car in ten minutes,” He says, disappearing down the hallway.

Liam stands and starts finishing the dishes, surprising Derek. 

“You teaching today, big guy?” Stiles asks, standing. 

Derek had forgotten it was Monday. His only class today isn’t until four, but he usually spends the day in his office working. “Shit,” He says, remembering that he had told his student’s he’d be there for office hours. “Yes, I need to go in.”

“What time?” Stiles asks, looking mostly at something on his phone. 

“Class isn’t until four,” He answers. “But I should go in a few hours before for office hours.”

Stiles nods. “Mind if I join you?”

The idea makes Derek nervous, only because he doesn’t want to make a mistake in front of Stiles, but he shakes his head. “I’d love it.”

Stiles grins a little and then disappears down the hallway, too.

Cora deflates next to him. “You weren’t kidding about him not ignoring the…whole thing.”

“Last night didn’t help,” Derek says. “I need more training. How often do you guys spar?”

“Couple times a week,” Isaac answers. “I’m up for it whenever.”

“Great. Text me your work schedule and we’ll work a time out,” Derek says, unlocking the phone Chris had gotten for him, presumably this morning, for the first time. All his information is already transferred over, which is nice. 

Isaac nods. “Jackson will be off for two days and he’s always ready, so definitely talk to him. He fights dirty, which is good practice.”

“I guess I should be sparring, too.” Cora says, voice quiet.

Isaac looks opposed to it immediately, but to his credit, he doesn’t express it verbally.

“I hate that I can’t say you shouldn’t.” Derek says, truthfully. 

She sighs. “This pack is worth it.” She’s looking at Isaac when she says it, though, so Derek can’t help but feel a little irritated. 

“Yeah,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. “We get it, you lovestruck idiots.”

He gets up to find Stiles, pocketing the phone and bundling the charging cord up before going. 

Stiles is in the living room, sitting with his shoes tied and knees bouncing at the couch. He smells anxious.

Derek sits next to him, thinking maybe Stiles is more like him than he first realized, and maybe Stiles would like just some quiet company.

 

A few minutes of silence pass between them. Scott’s phone rings in the dining room, and Derek means to ignore it, until he notices Scott’s heart rate drop and Cora and Isaac’s heart rates speed up. 

“…someone’s climbing into the window of Stiles’ old bedroom,” Danny is saying. “And there’s two more waiting out back. Wearing masks, can’t see faces, but they’re not reacting to the line, so probably human.”

“Got it,” Scott says, hanging up. He’s pulling his jacket on and helmet in the hallway within seconds. 

“Where you going in a hurry?” Stiles asks, sitting up a little, when Scott comes through.

Scott leaves without saying anything, the door slamming shut behind him. 

Stiles stands up. Isaac and Cora come into the room too, looking torn. 

“What happened?” Stiles asks, eyes on Isaac. 

Isaac doesn’t answer.

“What the fuck happened?” Stiles asks, louder now.

“Scott will take care of it.” Isaac says.

Stiles twists to look at Derek. “You heard?”

Derek hesitates only for a second. “Yes.”

“Then you’re going to tell me what the hell happened, right? As my fucking — you’re supposed to be my mate!”

“Don’t pull that card,” Isaac interrupts, glaring. 

“Someone is breaking into your father’s house.” Derek says, ignoring Isaac. Stiles is right. 

Isaac growls at him, but Stiles is already shoving Isaac and moving toward the front door, keys in hand.

Derek follows, grabbing Stiles’ sweatshirt from the couch as he goes. 

Outside, Derek hurries to catch up with Stiles who’s fighting with the key in the door of the jeep.

“Don’t you dare fucking try to stop me,” Stiles says, barely turning away from the lock to look at Derek. He puts a hand out like he’s going to physically push Derek away, too.

“Let me drive.” Derek says, voice calm. He feels his own heartbeat matching Stiles’, rushed and hard against his chest, but he focuses in on Stiles’ anxiety and the instinct to protect takes over.

Stiles stares at him for only a few seconds before he drops his shoulders and hands Derek the key, moving quickly to the passenger side. 

Stiles’ terse instructions back to his house are the only things said between them on the drive and Derek feels Stiles getting more and more worked up the closer they get.

He pulls up against the curb, thinking pulling into the driveway leaves them at a disadvantage if they need to leave, and Stiles is jumping out of his open door before Derek’s even stopped completely. 

Derek notices immediately that Scott isn’t here, alerting him even more to a danger. He’s not far behind Stiles, who barely remembers to swipe the mountain ash line away for Derek to come up behind him. Stiles yanks the keys from Derek’s hands and shoves one into the lock, twisting it and pulling it out quickly to insert it into the top lock. “They still here?” Stiles asks, pocketing the keys.

Derek nods. “Upstairs. Let me go, please. Scott isn’t here and that’s—”

Stiles is already barging in. “Get the fuck out,” He shouts immediately, interrupting Derek. 

Derek can hear their heartbeats upstairs — human, like Danny had suspected — but they don’t answer. It’s not surprising.

Stiles growls, something human but still animalistic, and makes a move for the stairs. Derek sighs and moves forward too, pushing past Stiles to go up the stairs first. As soon as he steps onto the landing and away from the protection of the wall, a door at the end of the hall opens and someone shoots him.

It hits him in the chest, near his collarbone, and brings him to the ground immediately. The pain is overwhelming, but his need to protect Stiles is even stronger, so he growls and pushes himself up. Stiles is stopped on the stairs, eyes wide. Derek can feel his eyes burning red and his fangs are thick behind his lips. There’s claws at the end of his fingertips. He focuses on the doorway, closed again, and tries to pinpoint where the heartbeats are behind it. He wills his wolf to take over but feels no response. 

“Are you —?” Stiles asks, reaching forward.

Derek growls and nods for him to stay back. He yanks the arrow from his chest, growling as he does, and tosses it to the side before forcing himself to stand again, ignoring the burning in his chest, and goes forward. The humans — hunters — are standing in the room still. They’re waiting for him. 

Instinct tells him to move forward and attack, but his human side tells him to wait for his pack to arrive. His mate is still on the stairs, smelling more and more like panic as each second passes, so he pushes forward. 

He throws open the door, immediately aware that Kate is here. He can smell the sickly-sweet strawberry vanilla perfume and shampoo she used, even years ago, the second the door is open. He growls, throwing his head toward where she’s standing. She’s wearing a mask, just like the others, but Derek can practically feel her smile behind it.

The hunter on his right raises a crossbow at him. The hunter in the center of the room has a gun. Kate, on his left, has a cattle prod.

“Leave.” Derek growls, eyes focused on Kate.

“Where’s the fun in that, baby?” She answers, confirming needlessly that it’s her. 

The hunter on his right shoots the crossbow, hitting just below the knee. He lunges for Kate anyway, howling as a second crossbow is shot, hitting him in the back. These arrows are laced with something, he knows immediately, his body reacting to the poison quicker than normal, already weak from last night’s fight.

Stiles is approaching, though, and Derek refuses to stop fighting. “Go,” He shouts back. “Leave, Stiles!” 

He’s not listening. Stubborn, stupid, beautiful human.

Derek forces himself to a crouch and tries to lunge for Kate again, but she just steps away and points the cattle prod toward him, turning it on, the sound of the electricity echoing through the room. 

Stiles is in the door way now. “Stop now.” He says, voice calmer and stronger than he smells. Derek can smell the magic on him, pulsing beneath his skin. 

“Now hold on, sweetie,” Kate says, stepping closer to Derek. He growls, moving backward to be closer to Stiles. He’s sweating, fighting the effects of the wolfsbane, feeling his senses and strength struggling to keep up. “Let’s talk about this before we start throwing spells around.”

“Lost your chance to talk when you broke into my father’s house,” Stiles says through gritted teeth. “Who the fuck are you?”

Kate laughs. “Oh, you don’t recognize my voice?” She pulls her mask off and Stiles exhales, stepping forward, hands slightly extended. “It’s good to see you again, baby,” She says, eyes on Derek. 

Stiles says something under his breath and suddenly the hunter in the middle of the room is gasping for breath, gun dropped and hands grasping at his throat.

To her credit, Kate doesn’t even glance at him, though the other hunter seems worried.

Derek’s lost his shift now. Kate grins. “Brad,” She says, and suddenly the hunter on his right is lifting the crossbow again. Stiles says something under his breath again and the hunter in the center of the room collapses. He turns to the hunter on their right, but before he finishes speaking, the hunter shoots another arrow, this time at Stiles. Derek throws himself at the hunter, fully human, before the arrow even hits Stiles. 

It’s useless though, because the hunter throws him back onto the ground, shoving the arrow in his back further in. He steps onto Derek’s chest and aims the crossbow at his heart.

“Stop whatever spell you’re planning or he shoots,” Kate says, voice calm.

Stiles is leaning against the wall, arrow lodged in his stomach, one hand around the arrow and the other pointing at Derek and the hunter pinning him. He looks angry. He smells angry. He’s shaking, hand still extended, but he’s silent. 

“Good boy,” She says, quiet. “You have two choices here, Stiles,” She continues, moving closer.

“Fuck off,” Stiles hisses. “Tell me what you want and get the fuck out.”

She laughs a little. “I want you, isn’t that obvious?” She caresses Stiles’ face with an extended hand, perfectly manicured nails stopping at his lips. 

Derek growls and tries to shove the hunter off of him, but Kate’s faster — she’s shocking him with the cattle prod only a half a second later, and for a few seconds, everything is pain. 

When he comes too, Stiles is shouting at Kate to stop, voice laced with fear.

“It was easier than I thought to get you here,” Kate says, unbothered by Stiles’ shouting. Derek can barely focus on anything other than the way his whole body feels fried, burnt from the inside. “Of course we knew you had cameras, and then it was just a matter of setting a trap for Scott so he couldn’t show up first. I don’t want to kill him, you know. Power like his isn’t worth wasting…” She puts the cattle prod back on Derek’s throat and he growls, despite feeling like he’s a few seconds of electrocution from death. “I will, however, kill this one. Useless. Absolutely worthless, Stiles. Lead me with an open heart to his entire pack. Children, Stiles, young, defenseless children. But they’re still monsters. Easier to kill them young than wait for them to come into their power.”

Derek growls again, his wolf pulling to the surface despite his body rejecting any try at shifting. 

“You’re the monster.” Stiles says, face pale. He’s curling in on himself more with every passing second, the blood stain on his shirt growing to worrisome sizes.

“Tomato - to-mah-ta,” She says. “Like I said, though. Your choice is easy. Come with us, help us out with a little problem.”

“Where’s the choice?” Stiles growls.

“Oh, the choice is in how easy you make it for yourself, sweetie.” She flicks the cattle prod back on and Derek flinches involuntarily. “I can kill him and then take you, or you can just come.”

“Don’t go.” Derek hisses, the words barely leaving his mouth before Kate’s pressing the wand back to his throat and everything is pain again. 

When he comes to again, it’s to Stiles hands on his face, shouting at him to wake up. “Okay,” Stiles says, when Derek makes eye contact for a second before closing them again, too weak to try to fight them to stay open. “Okay, okay, I’ll go. Leave Derek alone.”

“No,” Derek says, coughing. “Stiles, please.”

Kate flicks the wand back on, but Stiles is already standing. “Fucking stop,” He says, voice breaking. “I said I’ll go.”

“Brad’s going to tie your wrists,” Kate says. “Don’t need you trying anything silly.”

“Do it then,” Stiles says, lifting his wrists quickly when Kate steps closer to Derek again. He can feel his body trying to repair itself but the sound of the cattle prod is still ringing in his ears and his whole body feels like it’s still vibrating in pain. 

The hunter steps harder on Derek’s chest, dropping the cross bow away from his heart for the first time, and pulls something from behind him. He binds Stiles’ wrists tightly with some sort of woven leather rope, and Stiles hisses as he pulls is tighter. 

“Yes, we did our research,” Kate says, stepping closer. “No magic can run through that combination, so it’s not worth trying.” She steps on Derek’s throat when he growls, not completely, just resting her boot there, a warning.

“Get off of him, I’m not fighting you,” Stiles says, voice rough. 

“Stiles, please,” Derek says, “Not for me, please.”

Kate turns the cattle prod back on. 

 

When he wakes up, Stiles is gone. He knows it immediately, without even opening his eyes. 

Cora is shouting his name. Isaac and Scott are nearby. Chris is somewhere here too, if he focuses enough. He assumes Liam is here, but he can’t feel him. 

He forces himself to open his eyes, but as soon as he does, and sees the room around him, he remembers what happened and wishes he could be unconscious again. 

“Stay awake, Derek, please,” Cora says, grabbing his face. “Please.”

He closes his eyes anyway, trying to focus instead on his body and where he’s injured. They must have pulled the arrows out because he doesn’t feel the gaping wounds from before, but it all still feels like too much. The longer he thinks about how his body is burnt from the inside out, the more he focuses on how his family is gone, and then he knows that Stiles is gone, too and — 

“His heartbeat is crazy,” Scott is saying, “He’s panicking.”

“Sit up, Derek,” Isaac says, pulling Derek up into a sitting position. “You gotta sit up.”

“She took him.” Derek says, voice barely above a whisper.

“We know,” Scott answers. He sounds calm, but Derek can smell him — he’s angry. 

“I tried — he wouldn’t —” He tries to bare his neck, but Scott isn’t looking. 

“We know,” Scott interrupts, sounding sorry. “It’s not your fault.”

Derek feels himself shutting down. He wonders if Cora remembers this from after the fire — the way he closed in on himself and didn’t let anything out. He didn’t let anything or anyone in, either. It was safer, better. He allowed himself to be open, build a pack…have a mate, for what, two days? And then he let that all go to dirt, too. 

Flames, destruction and ruin. It’s all he brings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title & poem are from Road Music by Richard Siken
> 
> Hello to those of you here from my other story, Through His Eyes! ;) <3


	9. smeared night, smudged dawn. i saw him fall, them, falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the fire, says the fire. My body is a graveyard,  
> says the landscape. You’re welcome, says the landscape.  
> Gold bodies on the red, red ground. I paint in  
> the wounds. Socket, says the shoulder. Shoulder, says  
> the socket. Let’s kill everything, says everything else.  
> Smeared night, smudged dawn. I saw him fall. Them,  
> falling. Split and felled and pounded into the ground.

Danny calls Isaac as he’s shouting for Chris to hurry up and get to the car. Cora tries dialing Derek’s number to tell him to wait for them, but the new phone is left on the couch and obviously goes unanswered. Liam is already waiting by Chris’ SUV, looking anxious.

Cora reminds herself to breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Derek will be okay — Derek’s always okay. He goes dark sometimes, needs some time to himself, disappears for hours at a time in the middle of the night — but he comes back. That’s Derek — he always comes back. He may come back bruised and battered, but her big brother has always come back.

She won’t allow herself to think differently right now. 

It’s a rush of chaos as the four of them get into Chris’ SUV, and then Danny is calling to say that someone called the police station after seeing a black SUV hit a biker. The biker seemed unresponsive. Liam and Chris wanted to go there to check on Scott. Cora suspects Isaac did too — it’s his alpha and best friend, after all, but still, he fights alongside Cora for them to continue to the Stilinski household instead.

In the end, Chris is the one that’s driving, so he makes the final choice — they swing by the scene of the accident, slowing down as they approach — there’s an ambulance and two police officers already, but before Cora can even make sense of what’s happening, Chris is speeding up again. 

“He’s fine,” Isaac says, apparently picking up on her confusion. “Those paramedics are in on us. They’ll put him in the back, drive him around the corner and let him out.” 

Cora breathes a sigh of relief she didn’t know she was holding — of course Scott’s her alpha, but Derek’s still her brother and his well-being was always the one that was in greater danger between the two of them. Three of them. 

Derek and Stiles.

It’s hard to think of them now, when Chris is racing across town, breaking traffic laws and disobeying traffic lights to get to the Stilinski house in time to — she doesn’t know what, Danny wasn’t even sure who it was breaking in. She refuses to think that Derek might be hurt, but in that, she has to remember that Stiles’ life was always the one in danger here — that’s the whole reason they had come to Beacon Hills in the first place. He’d escaped last night, but that hadn’t been the danger in the first place. Will this be it?

And if it is, what does that mean for Derek? Derek, who always comes back. He’d looked her in the eye this morning and thought he might not come back. Derek had blamed himself for the fire from the very beginning. Laura and Cora stayed up for nights on end watching him, curled in a half catatonic state, worried he could lose control and reveal himself to the world at any minute — they knew he was feeling something deeper than they were, which seemed impossible when they looked at it logically. All three of them had just lost everyone, almost, but Derek was taking it harder. He was almost gone.

But then Laura was gone too and Derek was back. He was back, shaky and dark at times still, but he was back — and from the second he had made the decision to move to Beacon Valley, he was _really_ back. There was still that darkness beneath him, though, something that wore on his soul deeper than she understood.

Stiles made that lighter. Even if it was only obvious for a few minutes at a time, it was still obvious — the most obvious thing in the world for Cora. Her brother was lighter, happier — he talked more than she’d remembered him talking ever before. He was making a point to include Cora in everything — even in decisions and plans that didn’t even really affect her. 

So when Derek looked at her earlier that morning and said he may not come back, something clicked in her — Stiles must be protected. If she is to save her brother — if she is to have anyone left from her life before this pack — Stiles must be protected. It’s an uneasy realization for her. Isaac, even after only being together for half a day, is obviously her mate. She doesn’t want to leave him, not for a second, but — there’s something to be said about family bonds, even over a pack bond, or a potential mate bond — she wants her brother to live. 

She needs him to live.

So as Chris races toward the Stilinski house, she finds herself praying to any god she can think of that Stiles will be alive. Stiles needs to be alive so that Derek can be alive. It’s simple in that way, but difficult when she considers all the factors at play in front of her. 

“How far?” She asks, interrupting Chris saying something.

“Less than a minute,” Isaac answers, squeezing her hand gently. 

It’s only a second or two later that the familiar sound of the engine on Scott’s motorcycle comes behind them — she’d grown used to it on the drive to Beacon Hills this morning, but it’s jarring now. Both she and Isaac twist around to look at him. He lifts a few fingers from the handle bar in a wave and then speeds up and passes Chris, disappearing around a corner. 

They turn the corner, too, much slower, and Cora can see Stiles’ jeep parked on the street a few houses ahead. The houses here are more spread out, backed up to the woods in a comforting way. It looks like a nice place to grow up. Cora finds herself hoping it’s not the place Stiles dies. Scott’s already stepping off his bike in the driveway and heading toward the porch. Chris speeds up and slides into the driveway finally, too. They all swing their doors open before Chris has even cut the engine. 

Cora only has to open the door beside her to know that Derek is alive — his heartbeat finds her ears immediately, weak and slow, but alive. 

“No Stiles,” Scott says, opening the door. 

“No Stiles.” Isaac confirms, following. Cora hears it too — Derek’s the only heartbeat inside. No Stiles.

Cora feels something in her break, on behalf of Derek, probably, and wills her body to move faster. 

Scott’s leading the way up the stairs, Isaac behind him, and Cora’s right on his heels. Liam’s doing a perimeter check, worked out with Chris on the way over, and Chris is checking rooms downstairs — it’s useless, Derek’s the only one in the house — but she’s not one to tell other people not to try to hep, so.

The smell of blood hits her nose late, she thinks, considering how much there is to be seen once they reach the top of the stairs and turn the corner. “John’s room,” Scott says, moving down the hall quickly.

He turns the knob to a door and shoves it open, cursing when he slams it into Derek’s body on the floor.

Cora pushes past Isaac to get to him, Isaac dropping down beside her. 

“Breathing means alive,” Scott says. “Wait for Chris to look him over before we pull those arrows.” He’s opening a closet and then a door to a master bathroom, looking inside both for only a few seconds before cursing and coming back to Derek’s side. They’re gone, it was already obvious, but Cora can’t fault him for looking. There’s a body slumped on the opposite side of the room, though, and Scott approaches it slowly — one heartbeat aside, a body is always something to be careful about — and checks the pulse. He nods and wipes his fingers on his pants, even though they’re not wet or dirty. The idea of it, probably. 

She can’t smell anything but magic and blood and assumes they can’t either. 

There’s two other arrows on the floor, both covered in blood, and when Cora looks closely at the one closest to her, she sees that there’s flesh on the barbs, too, so she looks away instead. Scott uses an extended claw to slice Derek’s shirt off and then Isaac’s using his shirt to wipe Derek’s blood away from his skin. 

There’s a wound that’s closing and reopening near his collarbone, and Scott watches it for only a second before standing and going back to the bathroom. She hears him rooting around in a cabinet for something, but then Derek spasms and her attention is back on him.

His heart stops. She screams, almost involuntarily, while Isaac, thankfully not useless, growls and slams a fist down onto Dereks’ chest. It seems to work, though, and his heart is stuttering itself back into a start. 

Chris and Liam are coming up the stairs, calling that it’s all clear around the house and downstairs. 

“Need you, Argent,” Scott shouts from the bathroom still. “We got arrows!”

Chris shuts the door he’d stepped into at the other end of the hallway and jogs to them. He pushes Isaac out of the way and runs his fingers around the entry point of the arrow in Derek’s side. “Roll him, this one in his back is being pushed in by the pressure,” He says, waving a hand. 

Isaac moves quickly to the other side and with Liam’s help, rolls him to his side awkwardly. His arm flops back at an angle that looks wrong, but not wrong enough to be due to a broken bone, so Cora leaves it in favor of taking the jug of peroxide that Scott’s handing her. He has one too, but he waves a hand a the wound on Derek’s collarbone and nods at her, so she twists the cap off the bottle she’s holding and pours it over.

“We’re good to pull,” Chris says, after inspecting the discarded arrow for only a second. “It’ll pull flesh, but not enough to permanently hurt him.” With that, he’s already yanking on the one in Derek’s back. Cora gasps at the sound of it ripping back out of his skin, but then he throws it aside, and squeezes her arm. “He’s going to be okay, Cora. Pour more of that over this one, help clean it out.” His voice is soft and gentle in a way that she hadn’t heard it before, and it makes her think of her father.

Scott yanks the arrow from Derek’s side, pulling her thoughts away from her father and back to Derek. She pours peroxide over both of the wounds, relieved that when she checks, the wound on his collarbone is already starting to pull itself back together and not tear apart again. The peroxide is flushing any poison away.

“He smells…” Isaac says, and then shakes his head.

“Burnt.” Scott says, voice quiet.

“Cattle prod, probably,” Chris says, voice disgusted. “It’s her favorite.”

Cora looks up, unsure how she missed the reveal of who the three people were. 

Scott curses and stands up, eyes red and claws extended, and for a second Cora is thrown by the fact that he seems to have shifted involuntarily, and then it feels almost comforting. Her Alpha cares deeply and that feels safe.

“You’re sure?” Isaac says, voice quiet.

“Look at those arrows, Lahey,” Chris says, standing up. “I’m going to go check the other rooms. She loves to leave a note.”

Derek’s body spasms again as Chris leaves the room, and his heart stops just like it had before.

“Fuck,” Scott says, as Isaac pounds his fist onto Derek’s chest again, harder this time. 

It doesn’t jumpstart it like it did before, though, and Scott drops down next to Derek again and does several quick successions of CPR on his chest. Derek chokes the same second his heart starts again, and Cora feels like her own heart isn’t beating right in the seconds that follow the shaky start up again.

“Derek!” Cora finds herself shouting, slamming her fist down on his chest when Scott moves his hand. “Derek, wake up, dammit!”

He coughs, but his heartbeat is still slow and unsteady. She sobs and then chokes it back, squeezing her hands into fists to try to control herself. Isaac curses under his breath.

“Chris, how long we talking here?” Scott shouts.

“Minute to hours,” Liam shouts back.

No. No, no, no. “Derek Samuel!” She shouts, grabbing his face. “Derek! Derek!” 

It works. His heart jumps again and he coughs, and then he’s breathing and his heart is beating more like someone aware of the world around them and less like someone that’d just been electrocuted to near death. 

He opens his eyes, but they’re unfocused and discolored. 

No. Please. “Stay awake, Derek, please,” Cora says, grabbing his face. “Please.”

He closes his eyes again, despite her pleas. He’s breathing heavily and she knows before it starts that he’s going into a panic attack. 

It was unspoken between them always, and now, as his heart stutters and his chest heaves, Cora wonders if Derek even knew that Cora knew — how sometimes, before he would disappear for hours in the night, his heart would race and his breathing would be suddenly choppy. It would last for several minutes and Cora would hold her breath on the other side of his door, unsure if she should burst in and offer comfort.

Laura’s voice was always in her head when that happened. The first time Derek had a panic attack it was only a few hours after they had lost everything. He locked himself in the tiny hotel bathroom, started the shower and then sat on the floor. The shower was a pointless step, though — werewolf ears could easily hear over the shower head running, especially that of one in a cheap hotel — but Laura had looked up at Cora and shook her head. “Privacy.” She had said quietly. “Let him have his privacy.”

It felt wrong to know your brother, one of four living members of your family, your pack, was panicking behind a weak hotel bathroom door, and you were supposed to ignore it, but still, Cora listened to Laura. In the beginning, she had always wondered if she was listening to Laura purely because she was the Alpha or because she wanted so badly to have some sort of normalcy, and if Laura being the boss granted it, then so be it. Cora was barely thirteen, and the chaos of losing everyone in the wake of puberty — a tough time for werewolves in a normal setting — made her jump from anger and resentment to clingy fear at the drop of a dime.

When Laura died a few years later, it had already become a thing — for Laura and Cora to find each other in whatever house they were sleeping in at the time — whenever Derek had a panic attack, and cling to each other silently. “Privacy, Cora,” Laura would whisper. “Sometimes we just need privacy.” Sometimes Derek would leave his room, or the bathroom, and a couple times a closet, and find them, curled together on the couch. He would look at them, excuse himself and disappear outside. Other times, he would wander out from wherever he had closed himself in and disappear without even seeming to realize that they were only a few feet away. 

Laura, only a week or two before dying, had tried to stop him from going. Cora sat, still curled under a thick blanket Laura had bought for them just a few days before, and watched her step in toward Derek where he fumbled with the knob of the apartment front door. She remembers thinking it was a weird choice, considering it was one of those times that Derek didn’t even seem to register their existence, but still, Laura was in charge, and Derek’s attacks had been getting more frequent, and he was disappearing for longer periods, so maybe Laura was right in confronting him.

He’d lashed out, slashing across her chest when she reached a hand out to stop him from going. Then his eyes grew wide and he’d stepped toward her, hands shaking, before shaking his head and running out.

Cora moved quickly, frozen at first with surprise, to Laura’s side. Laura was crying, but Cora knew immediately it wasn’t pain — at least not a physical one. She was sad for Derek’s pain, and Cora could always remember trying to think of the right thing to say, opening and closing her mouth as she watched the marks heal slowly under the slashed fabric of one of Dad’s shirts that had been in his car. 

“Privacy,” Laura had said. “Derek needs privacy. We need to give him more time.”

Cora had nodded along with her, unsure if Laura was telling Cora this or herself. Still, she had made a choice to listen to those last words (of sorts) from Laura, even all these years later. They never spoke of that night, even when Laura found Derek sewing up Dad’s shirt the next morning, and never when Derek wore the shirt himself in the years after Laura’s death. 

“His heartbeat is crazy,” Scott is saying, pulling her out of her thoughts “He’s panicking.” 

“Sit up, Derek,” Isaac says, pulling Derek up into a sitting position as Derek starts to curl into a ball. “You gotta sit up.”

“She took him.” Derek says, voice barely above a whisper. His eyes aren’t focused still, but at least they’re open again. His heart rate isn’t right, either, but his chest moves regularly. 

“We know,” Scott answers. He stands up and starts pacing. 

“I tried — he wouldn’t —” Cora thinks Derek is trying to bare his neck and submit, but Scott isn’t paying attention.

“We know,” Scott interrupts, slowing his pacing to look Derek in the eye. “It’s not your fault.”

Cora is still lost on who ‘she’ is here, but now that Derek is awake, it seems wrong to ask for clarification. He’s curling in on himself again, and Isaac pushes him back and then keeps pushing until Derek’s sitting against the wall and next to Cora. 

Chris and Liam come in, Chris holding a piece of paper in hand. He lifts it slightly. “Note.”

“Yeah?” Scott says, reaching for it. “What’d she say?” He scans it and scoffs, handing the note to Isaac instead. Isaac takes it, rolls his eyes, then hands it to Cora. 

Derek’s eyes are closed again.

The note is written neatly, a red lipstick kiss mark at the end. “Hi my loves! Just borrowing. Hope to return in lightly-used condition. Xoxo, Kate” Cora narrows her eyes. “Kate…Argent? That Peter was after for the fire?”

“Yes,” Isaac is saying and then Derek opens his eyes and looks right at Cora, eyes suddenly focused. “There’s something you don’t know,” He says, voice rough.

It gets quiet. Scott stops pacing. Liam sucks in a breath. Cora stares back at Derek. “Okay. What is it?” She urges herself to stay calm. 

“Its —” He stops, looking around. “I —” He pushes himself up to his knees and stumbles a little. “I only bring destruction.”

Cora pulls him back down and tries to ignore the stinging pain of the tears in her eyes. “Derek, stop. What’s wrong? What do you want to tell us?”

“No — just you — they know. You know, don’t you?” He’s staring at Scott, who nods just a little. Chris sighs and leaves the room. 

Cora feels her own heartbeat quickening, but Isaac reaches to take her hand. Derek stares at their hands for several seconds before dropping his head onto his knees. “I let Kate in. Gave her a key. Told her how to get past the security.”

Cora processes the words in a way that keeps her heart beating at a normal pace, but her lungs stop taking in air until Isaac says “Because she tricked him. She’s a bitch that tricked you, Derek.” Because of course — Derek wouldn’t — he would never hurt his pack. Derek, who was laying in a pool of his and his mates blood just minutes ago, fighting his way back to life. Derek, who always comes back.

“Okay,” She says, swallowing. “So you got tricked. I don’t — it’s okay, Derek.”

He laughs, something hard and unamused. “The flames on Stiles’ tattoo — she will probably burn him, too.”

Isaac exhales sharply. 

“Fuck, Derek,” Scott says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Come on, man, take a breath and work through it with us. What’d she say? What’d she want?”

Derek doesn’t look up from the blood. “She said she’d give him a choice — I die and they take him, or he goes easily. He didn’t — I told him to fight it.” He looks up suddenly and looks across the room. The body of the hunter is still there and he waves a hand at it. “He stopped fighting and he just — because of me?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered who was here,” Scott says, shaking his head. “He would have gone even if it were a stranger.”

“He would have gone even if it were an enemy,” Isaac says, and Cora finds comfort in the way both of their heartbeats stay steady with their statements — it’s the truth.

“She didn’t say what her problem was?”

Derek shakes his head. “Just — they had some sort of…something. It hurt him when they tied his arms.”

Scott nods. “Certain materials can stop his magic. Like wolfsbane for us, it burns his skin.” He starts pacing again. “Obviously, we need to regroup. Originally, I thought we should all be at the firehouse, living our lives normally, but —” He moves his head, considering. “We should come back here. Base operations from here. Stay close and make sure we know where we are. If Stiles is able to get away, he’ll come here. He always does.”

Cora narrows her eyes. “This has happened before?”

“Powerful as fuck,” Isaac says, voice quiet. “It’s not the first time someone’s kidnapped him in hopes of using his power for something.”

“But is the first time I’ve been here,” Derek says. “And destruction and death comes secondhand.”

“Derek,” Cora hisses, feeling something inside of her snapping. “He’s fine. He’s going to be fine. I feel the bond still, don’t you?”

Derek nods a little, barely responsive. 

“So hold onto that,” Scott says. “We always get him back, Derek. It’s no different.”

Derek laughs a little again, completely harsh and dark sounding. 

Scott’s shoulders drop at the sound and he shakes his head a little. “Okay, Liam, show Derek to the shower. He needs rest. The rest of us are going to head downstairs and start calling everyone back this way. We need to figure shit out.”

Liam and Isaac pull Derek up and guide him back down the hallway.

Scot offers a hand to Cora, so she takes it.

He looks her in the eye for a second. “I need — Stiles might not come back. I need you to know that you have us. We have you, okay?”

Cora can barely breath through the lump in her throat, but she nods. “He needs to come back.” She says, unsure at first if the ‘he’ she means is Derek or Stiles, then sure she means both. 

Scott nods. “You can take a minute, if you need. We’ll be downstairs.” He bumps his fist into her shoulder as he walks out. 

She glances around — the body of the hunter is slumped awkwardly and Cora wonders what kind of magic killed him for only half a second, before she shakes her head and stares instead at the blood on the floor. 

If they’re all going to be living here until Stiles is back, someone needs to clean it up. Might as well be her.

 

It doesn’t take long to find bleach and a mop bucket. Isaac joins her in the laundry room as she waits for the bucket to fill, the warm water diluting the bleach smell with every passing second. “I can do it,” Isaac offers, when she turns off the water and hefts the bucket out of the large sink. 

Cora just shakes her head, unsure if he means carrying the bucket or cleaning, but really, both give her a needed distraction.

“Derek sometimes…goes dark,” She says, when he still follows her to the bedroom at the end of the hall. “For…days, sometimes. Not violent. Just…not present.”

Isaac nods a little. “Yeah? How can we help?”

She feels like the worst sister in the world when she just lifts her shoulders and lets the drop. “There’s not — I never can find something.”

“Okay, that’s okay.” He says, grinning a little. “So he goes dark. We can wait. He’ll come back.”

“This morning—” She says, but he shakes his head. 

“This morning he was tired and overwhelmed from something monumental. He’ll come back, Cora. It’s obvious to all of us how strong your bond is. Stiles’ and his bond didn’t replace that. Not overnight. He’ll come back for you, Cora.”

“He always does,” She says, though she’s afraid she’s wrong this time.

“Yeah, see,” Isaac says, grinning softly. “He always does. No need to think this one up differently.”

She nods a little. They clean in silence, Isaac bringing in towels from a hall closet to help with the mess.

“I hate small spaces,” Isaac says, voice a little shaky. “Because my dad used to lock me in a freezer to punish me. I would try to claw my way out but — it was useless, of course, and once I wore my finger down to bone.” He lifts his right hand, shaking slightly. If she looks closely, his middle finger is angled differently. “I’m not over it, even though I’m away from it. Scott gets dodgy if people start shouting when they’re drunk. Jackson gets worked up about bad driving. Malia hates being in cars while it’s raining and Lydia won’t look twice at buildings with gates or armed security. You saw Stiles. We all go dark sometimes, Cora. Derek’s not any different. We’re not going to give up on him.”

Cora uses her elbow to swipe away the tears on her cheeks, and nods as she does. “Laura used to say he needed privacy. Maybe we gave him too much because it hasn’t stopped.”

“Maybe he won’t,” Isaac says. “I know Scott’s not going to shove me in a freezer if I piss him off, but my mind still wanders there when I feel like I’ve fallen short.”

“Peter killed your dad,” Cora says, quietly. She remembers the Timeline had said ‘Deserved, honestly’ and wonders if Isaac would agree. “Did you ask him too?”

Isaac shakes his head, eyes down. “No, but I could have stopped him. Maybe I should have.”

“Do you think — will Peter come back? Or is he all darkness now?”

Isaac huffs a little. “Who knows with Peter. You know a different Peter than we all do. He’s been there when we needed him, and his absence has been felt heavily other times. We learned early on not to count on him, but I would still call on him and hope for the best if the situation arose.”

“Like this?”

Isaac’s shoulders drop a little. “We’ll see what Scott thinks.”

Cora wonders if Peter would pull Derek out or push him in, and she can’t decide which is more likely. She doesn’t know this Peter, and the way they talk about him — he doesn’t seem like someone who would even try to pull Derek out. 

She wishes now more than ever that Laura would have been able to pull him out a little. Before Peter ruined, that, too. 

“Thanks for telling me that,” She finds herself saying, as Isaac pushes towels around on the wood floor. The blood and bleach water have soaked them, but he’s still kicking them around. “About your dad.”

He nods a little. “I once dated a girl who drove this ugly, tiny-ass car. She wanted to have sex in it and I had a panic attack. I probably should have told her sooner that that was a no-go for me. So I figured hey, let’s try to do it right this time.” He grins up at her a little. “Though, delivery seemed awkward.”

“Better luck on your next girlfriend,” Cora says, grinning a little. 

Isaac’s face breaks into a large grin. “Yeah, maybe I’ll totally nail it for her.”

 

By the time they’re both happy with the state of cleanliness of the master bedroom floors, Derek’s downstairs on a couch, holding Stiles’ sweatshirt in his hands and staring at the floor. Chris and Scott are pulling down pins and pictures from a map on the wall in the kitchen and Liam is sitting at a laptop, a printer running things off behind him. 

“Pack’s about thirty minutes out,” Scott says. “Lydia was going to grab some stuff for you and Derek, Cora, but…it might not be everything, so once they get here, go ahead and make a list of what else you guys might need. Think kind of long term — two, three weeks at most.”

“Derek will need to call into the school,” Cora says, glancing over at him. He doesn’t even respond to her voice saying his name. “And I will too, I guess.”

Scott nods, glancing toward the living room and then back at Cora. “Danny can take care of that for both of you.”

Cora nods. “I’m going to try to talk to him,” She says, motioning backward a little. 

Scott nods. Isaac pulls Scott aside and the two start talking in voices too low for her to follow, but it’s pretty obvious that they’re discussing Derek. What else would they be discussing?

 

Cora sits on the floor in front of Derek. He doesn’t look up from the sweatshirt right away, but when he does, she’s surprised to see his eyes are clear. “Hi,” She says, reaching out slowly. He watches her put a hand on his knee.

He doesn’t answer, but she didn’t really expect him too.

“Are you okay? Still hurting?”

He jerks his head a little, but that’s it.

“Okay. Do you need anything? Some water?”

He jerks his head again. 

She deflates a little, but sits there still. “Okay. I guess I’ll just sit here, then. That okay?”

He stares at her for a minute before dropping his eyes back to the sweatshirt. He looks pale still, and if she focuses she can smell pain on him still, but she chooses not to bring it up. If he says he’s not hurting, she’ll believe it. 

Several minutes pass before he makes any movement at all, and when he does, it’s to toss the sweatshirt on the couch across the room. It startles Cora a little, which he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Hey, what’s going on in there?” She asks, voice quiet. “Please don’t go away. Please stay.”

He makes eye contact again, but this time his eyes are wet with welled tears. “I bring pain,” He says, voice barely audible. “They just — they were trapped in our home. Because of me. And they burnt to death. August and Tillie and Olivia and Lucy. Mom and dad, Wes and Corrinne…they all burnt to death because of me.”

“Derek,” Cora says, swallowing back the lump in her throat when she allows herself to think of that day. “Do you want me to be angry at you?” 

He nods a little after staring at her, confused.

“I won’t be. You didn’t know. What if I had done it?”

He shakes his head quickly. 

“Okay. So why you?”

“The fire triggers Peter, who kills Laura, then he bites all these…kids. Causes hell for them. Over and over. Stiles’ dad, Chris’ daughter, two other teenagers…all dead. Others, too. Then…I come here and she appears again? It’s not chance.”

“If it’s not chance, why did she want him and not you? Wouldn’t she want to finish the job?”

Derek studies her for a second. “I don’t have answers, Cora.”

“You just have theories. About — crazy theories where you’re the bad guy. You’re not the bag guy, Derek.”

He shrugs a little and drops his gaze again. 

Cora sighs. They sit in silence again for several minutes, and then Isaac appears in the doorway and nods toward the door. He mouths “pack” and holds up his hand. Five minutes. She nods a little. 

“Do you want the sweatshirt back?” Cora asks after a minute. “The rest of the pack is almost here.”

His face scrunches up. “No. I need — I’ll be back.”

He stands, and Cora does too. “You need to stay in the house,” Cora says. “You can’t leave.”

His lips twitch, like he might growl, and Cora prepares herself for that emotionally in the half second it takes him to rest his face again. He nods a little and moves past her, disappearing up the stairs with Stiles’ sweatshirt.

She takes a deep breath and joins the others in the kitchen. “He said he wanted privacy.” 

Scott angles his head up for a little and then nods. “He’s in Stiles’ old room. That’s a good place.”

She nods and looks at the large map. “What’s all this?”

Scott shrugs a little. “Stiles was always better at this. Lydia and Danny will takeover once they’re here, but — what we know is Kate. They disabled the cameras when they left, but they left their other guy, so Danny and Kira might be able to find out who he is. That might help us get an idea of what their problem is.”

She nods and is about to ask Isaac more about Kate when she hears cars pulling up. The rest of the pack is here.

It’s all chaos and noise as people get settled in, suitcase after suitcase brought in. Scott’s mom hugs Cora immediately, kissing her forehead, and for a second Cora lets herself pretend it’s her own mom, but then she forces herself out of that. 

Draco runs through the house whining. It’s the worst part about all of it, so far, when Scott calls him back downstairs from where he’s whining at Stiles’ closed door upstairs, and tells him to lay down. He does, but he doesn’t stop the low whine.

They all stand around the table for a few seconds, all eyes on Scott. He hesitates for several seconds and then shakes his head. “I don’t have a plan. Derek is —” He looks at Cora and frowns a little before continuing. “Derek was injured badly and he blames himself for Stiles being gone. So we’re down two strong members. For those that hadn’t heard, Derek was able to fully shift into a full wolf form last night. He’s not sure how to control it, so we need to be aware of that in whatever capacity we can.” 

“What steps need to be taken?” Melissa asks. “How can we help?”

“Right now, Danny needs to call the school and excuse Lydia, Liam, Cora and Derek. Then we need to call BVPD and get Jackson out, too. Kira, I need you to start checking cameras as soon as possible. We don’t know what car they left in and we don’t know who the other guy is, but we know Kate is involved, so start looking for her face anywhere within like, fifty miles of here. Lydia, start reaching out to our allies. We don’t want people to know Stiles is missing, so be careful — but put out an APB for Kate. We’ll get pictures of that other hunter and start looking for him, too. Chris, I need you to reach out, too. Mom, it’d be great if you could reach out to hospitals. Stiles was shot. Maybe Kate steals something from a hospital to help him out, maybe she knows how to help him. Either way, we need to know if she’s nearby. Malia, Liam, Jordan, Isaac, Jackson and I will run perimeters around the neighborhood every hour. Two of us out at all times. Cora, you’re welcome to add yourself to that list.” Cora nods readily. Scott nods back. “Questions?”

“Do we have any idea what Kate might want?” Parrish asks.

Scott shakes his head. “Derek said she was vague. Her note is up on the wall. That’s all we got.”

“So…assuming she’s telling the truth, Stiles might be fine.” Liam says, shrugging a little.

“Assuming Kate’s telling the truth has never worked out well for us.” Scott answers, eyes down. “But I’d like to think so.”

“Should I call Peter?” Cora asks, voice quieter than she means it to be. 

Scott sighs and glances at everyone else. “That’s a team decision, man. I don’t know. He knows Kate better than all of us, but…”

‘It’s Peter’ seems to be unspoken. 

“There’s not really a ‘but’ when it comes to Stiles, is there?” Melissa asks, frowning. “There’s never been a ‘but’ when it comes to the rest of us in his mind.”

Scott nods. “Mom’s right.”

“Fuckin’ hate him, though,” Parrish says, and then his cheeks go a little red. “Sorry, Malia and Cora.”

Malia shrugs, seeming unbothered. Cora nods a little, accepting the apology. She’ll decide for herself if Peter is as bad as they make him out to be. 

Scott nods, sighing. “Okay, let’s get started then. Malia and I are going out on the first run now. Isaac and Cora will go next. Liam and Parrish, then Jackson and I. Rotations continue from there. All clear?”

Everyone nods and soon chaos erupts again as people move to do what they were told. Laptops get pulled from backpacks and crowd the table. 

Danny is the first to make a call. “Hello Officer Brees, this is Agent Daniel Mahealani, FBI. I need to speak with the head officer, please.” 

Cora’s eyes go wide and Isaac grins and pulls her out of the dining room. “Is he serious?” Cora whispers, leaning back toward the kitchen to hear the conversation. 

Isaac nods, still grinning. 

“Hello, Sheriff Brommel, this is Daniel Mahealani, FBI. I’m calling to say that we have one of your officers, Jackson S. Whittemore, under protection currently. I can send all paperwork as soon as we get off the phone, and I assure you he will be back to work as soon as possible.”

The Sheriff sounds confused. “You know, I understand that you do important work, but this is the third time Whittemore’s been pulled out for something, and I never get clear answers.”

Danny interrupts. “Some people have higher levels of clearance than others, sir. Whittemore’s work for the FBI is important to our nation’s survival. If you have a complaint or question, I can refer you to my bosses’ line, but if not, I need to go.”

“No, sir. No complaints. Tell Whittemore we’ll miss him around here.”

“Uh-huh. Thank you, Sheriff.” Danny hangs up. “Jackson’s clear,” He yells out, immediately dialing another number. 

“Does he have a boss that is just — fine with this?” Cora asks, following Isaac further back into the house. 

“No.” Isaac says. “He’s on a team of top-secret hackers. They all cover for each other, no questions asked, though. So it works out.”

“Is he gonna get us out of school by saying the same thing?”

Isaac nods. “More or less. Ready to call Peter?”

She had kind of forgotten, if she’s honest. Finding out someone in her new pack was FBI with the ability to make alibis for them all was a little distracting. But still, she nods and takes the phone that Isaac’s extending, Peter’s contact page already up. 

She sighs and hits call, deciding to just bite the bullet rather than think it out.

It rings only twice before Peter answers.

“Isaac, my favorite former beta.” He practically purrs into the phone and it gives Cora the chills.

“Cora, actually.” She says, clearing her throat.

“Ah,” He says, seeming unsurprised. “My dear niece. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” She says, feeling awkward. “Can you come back to Beacon Hills? We need your help.”

“You don’t want to know how I am? Your big brother tried to kill me.”

“You sound alive.” She says. “Can you come?”

“So quick you’ve thrown me away,” Peter says, sounding like he doesn’t care at all. “You’ve chosen this pack over me already?”

“You chose revenge over us already.” Cora answers, surprising herself. “We’re really busy, Uncle Peter. Can you come?”

He seems to consider it for a while before sighing. “I suppose. But I want to talk to Stiles first.”

Cora looks to Isaac. He shakes his head. “Why? Just come.”

“Because he threatened me with bodily harm if I were to show up near him again and I’d like to know that he’s choosing to move past his previous childish threats since my niece is calling on me for help.”

“He is.”

“I’d like to hear it from him, my dear niece. I’m sure you understand.”

“He’s busy, Peter.” 

He ‘hmm’s for much longer than necessary. “Or is it that he’s the one that might need my help?”

“We all need your help,” Cora says. “And I’m the one calling because I’m the only one here that doesn’t seem to hate you.”

“Derek hates me? How upsetting to hear.”

“Peter.” Cora says, clenching her teeth. He’d always been difficult to talk too, it’s not different now. “Can I count on you being here soon?”

“Yes.” He answers, quicker than expected. “With bells on.”

She rolls her eyes. 

“See you soon, then. Goodbye.”

“You could try saying thank you.” Peter says, sounding unbothered completely.

“Uh-huh. Thank you.” She says, rolling her eyes.

She can practically hear him grinning over the phone. “See you, then.” He hangs up.

Cora hands the phone back to Isaac and sighs. “Well, he seems just as difficult as before, so shame on me for thinking maybe that would hav changed.”

Isaac huffs a laugh. “He was actually more responsive to you than he ever is to any of us, so at least you have that.”

Cora rolls her eyes. “I guess I should tell Derek he’s coming.”

Isaac winces a little. “I guess so. I’ll be down here if you need me.”

She nods, squeezing his shoulder as she stands.

Draco follows her up the stairs, tail smacking loudly against the wall, and she frowns at him, afraid he thinks she’s leading him to his person.

She knocks on the closed bedroom door, but Derek doesn’t answer, so she pushes it open, squeaking a little when Draco shoves it open as soon as it’s unlatched. He goes immediately to a bed in the corner, unbothered by Derek sitting on the floor between the door and the bed there.

She sits next to him. He’s still holding Stiles’ sweatshirt, this time with claws extended. 

“Peter is coming.” She says, unsure if blunt honestly is the best way to go about it.

He glances at her and then looks back to the sweatshirt. “Stiles hates him.”

She nods. “They all do. But he knows Kate and Kate has Stiles, so…”

“Did you speak to him?” Derek asks, surprising her.

She nods. “Yes, I did. Figured he should know we were here.”

“Is he angry?”

“It’s Peter. It’s hard to tell.”

Derek raises his eyebrows and shrugs a little. “Is Scott angry?”

“No.” She answers, sure.

Derek huffs. “He should be. I should — I really should go, Cora. When they realize he’s not coming back — they can’t look at me. They shouldn’t.”

“What about me, Derek? You’ll just leave me?”

His eyes flash red. “You have Isaac and an incredible pack here, Cora. I should have never thought I was strong enough to be your Alpha.”

She elbows him. “Stop. I’m not choosing them over you. They’re not going to hate you because Stiles will come back. He will, Derek.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Cora stares back at him, unsure.

“I can’t keep bringing death wherever I go, Cora. I won’t.”

“What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying.”

She gets up and leaves, slamming the door. 

Derek always comes back. Until maybe he doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looong one for you!   
> Love hearing from you all <3
> 
> Poem & chapter title are from Richard Siken's Landscape with Several Small Fires


	10. everyone wants a battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A man with a bandage is in the middle of something.  
> Everyone understands this. Everyone wants a battlefield.
> 
> Red. And a little more red.
> 
> Accidents never happen when the room is empty.   
> Everyone understands this. Everyone needs a place.

Cora’s asleep on the living room floor, head on Isaac’s lap, when Peter’s truck pulls up across the street. She only knows it’s Peters truck because every other werewolf in the room sits up straighter and their heartbeats quicken a beat or two. 

She rubs her eyes and looks for her phone — it’s 11:30. She’d fallen asleep listening to Danny and Kira talk about different security cameras and access points for them almost two hours ago. Isaac helps her stand and takes a deep breath. 

Scott comes down from upstairs, smelling like Derek, which surprises Cora. She hopes whatever Scott may have said to Derek helps, because the Derek she left upstairs hours ago was not the Derek she hoped would be with her during something so large and confusing.

Peter’s at the door now, but he doesn’t knock right away, just stands silently on the other side. Scott stands on this side of the door waiting, seemingly calm. Cora finds herself shifting a little further behind Isaac. If he notices, he doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

Finally, Peter knocks. Scott pulls the door open. 

“Peter Hale, omega. Here to be of assistance,” Peter says, grinning at Scott.

“Come in.” Scott says, stepping out of the way. “Previous rules still apply, Peter.”

Peter nods. “Yes, yes, of course. No biting anyone, no shifting in public, no parking tickets or speeding. I understand my rules.”

Scott nods, eyes never leaving Peter for more than a few seconds. They don’t trust him and it’s obvious. 

Peter immediately moves his focus to Cora, standing behind Isaac may she be.

“My niece, not even a hug?”

She stares back, feeling anger inside her that she hasn’t felt in years. She shakes her head in answer, unsure that her words would hold steady.

“Harsh.” He leans against the wall. “Even Laura hugged me when she met me the night she died.”

Cora feels anger boiling in her throat at the mention of her sister’s name and when she twists to look at him head-on, he’s grinning. 

Only a few seconds pass, as she tries to formulate a response worth Laura’s name, but it doesn’t end up mattering because Derek’s flinging himself down the staircase and pouncing on Peter in the same movement. He’s not completely shifted, just fangs and claws showing, but he still has Peter pinned easily, fangs just centimeters from Peter’s throat.

Peter does seem surprised, at least. He holds completely still, cocky grin wiped from his face. 

“Keep her name out of your mouth,” Derek growls, pressing Peter harder into the ground.

Peter glances to his left. “Scott, control your betas. You called on me for help, here I am.”

Derek growls, pushing his hands into Peter’s chest again. 

Cora isn’t sure what she hopes happens next. She’d allowed herself to forgive Peter, in some twisted way, for killing Laura — when she though Derek had killed him for his attack, all seemed okay. Laura had justice served, even if it was messy and quiet. When she heard he was alive, she focused more on the havoc he created for others than the pain she left with the remaining Hales, and it seemed easy to ignore, until suddenly he’s speaking her name like it doesn’t still hurt that she’s gone and Cora wanted to rip his throat out, too.

“Go ahead and show him, Derek,” Scott says, calm.

Derek flashes his eyes immediately and Peter grins, but they can all hear how his heartbeat picks up immediately. 

“So Cora’s left you, too?” Peter says and Derek growls, face shifting into full beta form. “Have you told your little secret, nephew?”

Cora is the one to growl this time, surprising Peter. He twists to look at her, grinning still. “He has, then? And you don’t mind? I suppose I thought you might be angrier than Laura was. She was decidedly unimpressed with the truth, though she didn’t agree to kill Derek over it, which is how she met her fate. You were the one that had to hear our screams, though. Hidden away in that treehouse, smelling your family burn. You’re not angry at Derek?”

And then Derek’s running. The door is still open, so his exit is quick. He’s jumping off the porch, human, in one second, and landing, fully wolf, in the next. He turns quickly and darts behind the house into the trees there. 

Peter’s chest is bleeding and torn open where Derek used him as a launch pad, and he’s struggling to breathe, but Cora runs onto the porch and shouts Derek’s name, ignoring him completely.

“Isaac, Jackson, go.” Scott says, and then the two of them are running after him, disappearing around the house after them.

Cora stands on the porch for several more minutes while the chaos inside continues. Peter’s yelling at Scott for calling him here for an ambush and Malia is yelling back at him about being a dick. Chris has a gun drawn the whole time, which seems to make no one but Peter uneasy, though Cora feels unsafe too. Draco emerged from the upstairs at some point and is growling at Peter from the bottom of the staircase, guarding it, apparently.

Melissa comes outside after a while and wraps an arm around Cora. “Come inside, dear,” She says. “We should try to focus.”

Cora sighs. Melissa is right, but half of Cora’s focus will always be on where Derek might be, and how he might not come back this time, and that leaves her feeling exhausted and worn.

Peter is practically healed when she comes inside, sitting up against the wall, still groaning about ambush, though it seems no one is listening to him. 

“Always running, isn’t he, Cora?” Peter says when Melissa closes the door behind them. 

Cora ignores him, as it seems like most of the pack does. 

“I can’t help but notice my favorite scrappy human seems to be missing.”

Scott crosses his arms, smelling irritated. “Yes. Kate has him.”

Peter raises his eyebrows and pushes himself up, finally dropping his still-injured act, and stands. “Hm. How long?”

“Less than twelve hours ago,” Lydia answers. “And he killed one of her friends.”

“Well, she won’t like that.” Peter says, calm. “They’re disposable only to her.”

“Do you know what she might want?”

“A mage as powerful as he? Any number of things.”

“Can you help us narrow it down, Peter?”

Peter sighs. “There’s been some rumors of an attack on the alpha pack.” He says, picking at something under his nails. “Which I think we can all agree could be an excellent thing for all of us.”

“What kind of rumors?” Scott pushes. “Kira, do we know where they are?”

Kira lifts a finger and pulls a laptop from between the couch cushions and starts typing.

“The kind that are usually true.” Peter says, vaguely. “It’s a mission our dear Stiles wouldn’t be against, we all know that.”

“He’s not a weapon to be used at will,” Lydia hisses. “She’s going to hurt him.”

Peter nods. “Of course she will. I’m just saying that Stiles is probably not against her ideas.”

“Which isn’t the point.” Scott says, short. “Are you going to give us more details or not?”

Peter rolls his eyes and strolls into the dining room. “The Alpha Pack are coming for you, of course,” He says, casual. “So they’ll attack wherever you are. They hired some hunters out in hopes of taking Stiles out, though it seems that must have failed.”

“You knew all of this and didn’t think to warn us?”

Peter grins. “Stiles visited me not long ago, Oh-True-Alpha. We discussed all of this.” He seems delighted that Scott doesn’t know. “Of course, he kept that from you. For some reason.” Peter flicks a hand. 

“Discuss it with us now, then.” Scott says, through gritted teeth. 

Cora can hear a commotion in the backyard, and hears Derek and Isaac’s heartbeats just after, so she pushes past people to get to the hallway. Liam and Lydia follow her, Lydia’s hand on her shoulder in a comforting way.

Isaac is dragging Derek, still fully shifted. Jackson is trailing behind, bleeding but healing, so Cora focuses back on Derek instead.

Derek’s bleeding also, mostly across his face, but he’s breathing and his heart is beating, so whatever tussle he and Jackson got into seems to have left both of them a little worse for the wear, but alive, so Cora doesn’t care.

“He’s fine,” Isaac says, hefting Derek onto the porch. “Just not exactly thinking clearly.” 

“Did you knock him out?” Liam asks when Isaac drops him unceremoniously onto the porch. 

“I did,” Jackson says, wiping his face with the back of his arm and wincing when it pulls one of the cuts there. “Sorry, Cora. He wasn’t thinking straight.”

Cora nods a little. “Thank you for bringing him back.”

“He’s pack,” Isaac and Jackson say at the same time, grinning a little at each other. “Peter of any help here?”

“Stiles knew this was all going to happen,” Lydia answers, quietly. “He told Peter a few weeks ago.”

Derek stirs, and Jackson and Isaac both sigh. “Inside and into Stiles’ room?” Jackson asks. 

Isaac nods. “Probably best. Someone go move Draco out of there, though. Just incase.”

Liam goes quickly inside. 

Jackson and Isaac both grab Derek and lift him. Lydia opens the back door.

“Go ahead,” Liam calls out from down the hall. Draco’s barking, but it seems like he’s more frustrated than angry, and Cora assumes Liam’s holding onto his collar. The last thing they need is Derek and Draco fighting. 

They’re halfway up the stairs when Peter spots them. “That — oh, how interesting. Tahlia would be thrilled to see one of her children would carry on the ability.”

“Is that how it works?” Malia asks. “Like a gene?”

Peter shrugs a little. “Some say as much. Our father always said it was a power given to those truly strong, but…” He motions at Derek. Cora growls. He grins and raises his hands in mock surrender.

Isaac nods up the stairs, and Jackson keeps walking. Derek’s starting to shift in their arms, their hold already awkward, so they hurry to make it to Stiles’ room, shuffling their feet until they’re both on the solid flat ground and then picking up into an awkward jog. 

They drop him onto Stiles’ bed and he growls as he comes too, shifting back to human form as he does. He immediately curls to cover his naked body and Isaac tosses him a blanket. He’s still bleeding, worse in this form.

He looks at the four of them standing in front of them and then drops his gaze to the floor for a few seconds.

“You okay, man?” Isaac asks, breaking the silence.

Derek lifts his head again, this time to bare his neck to Jackson.

Jackson huffs. “Cut it out, man. We’re fine. No one’s hurt.”

Derek huffs and drops his head again, but says nothing.

“You can’t run away,” Cora says. “Please, Derek.”

He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t acknowledge it at all.

“Got something!” Kira shouts downstairs, and suddenly all five of them are rushing down the stairs, Derek somehow at the front of the pack though he had been furthest from the door. 

“Okay, whoa, pants,” Kira says, when he twists into the living room. She averts her eyes, embarrassed.

Scott huffs a laugh and Peter looks equally amused. 

Derek huffs and looks around, as if pants will suddenly be available for him. 

“Red suitcase,” Lydia says. “I packed your things in the red suitcase at the base of the stairs.”

Derek grabs it and unzips it in a hurry, everyone apparently waiting for him to be dressed rather than hear the news Kira has to share while he’s digging through the suitcase.

He stands and pulls on a pair of shorts. “What did you find?” He asks through gritted teeth.

She smiles at him and her eyes light up a little. “Right! A ping for Deucalion I set just went off.” She twists her laptop, showing them all a low-quality photo of someone. “He’s not far.”

“Anyone else with him?” Scott asks, moving closer.

“Kate wants Stiles to take out the Alpha Pack,” Cora tells Derek. “Peter says Stiles knew about this for a while.”

“When he visited you?” Derek asks, not looking at Peter.

“Yes, nephew.”

Derek growls, but doesn’t respond.

“You knew he went?” Scott asks.

Derek nods a little. “He told me he told Peter to stay away. He didn’t mention anything else.”

“He always frames our conversations so gently,” Peter grumbles. 

“As if you don’t deserve it,” Malia says, rolling her eyes. 

“Anyone else with him?” Scott repeats.

“Yes.” Kira answers. “Ethan.”

Danny curses under his breath and sits down.

“Aw, young love.” Peter says, looking between Kira and Danny.

“Fuck off,” Isaac says, surprising Cora. “Are you going to be helpful or just shitty?”

“I’ve already told you that Kate is wanting to take out the Alpha Pack. I know for a fact that’s more information than you had on your own.” Peter rolls his eyes.

“Focus here,” Chris says. “Ethan and Duke are not far. Where is Kali? They have others by now, we know that much.”

Kira’s typing furiously. “Working on it.”

“So you have nothing?” Derek asks. “On Stiles.”

She shakes her head, smelling sad.

Derek goes back upstairs.

“Ah. Attached himself quickly to Stiles, did he?” Peter asks, grinning up the stairs.

“Mates.” Malia answers. “So stop being an asshole and help us.”

Cora’s shocked by it, only because Peter considers it for a second and then nods. 

Maybe he’s not all bad. 

 

By four in the morning, there’s a plan. They’ll all sleep today and then at night break, they’ll go to the town that the Alpha Pack have made their temporary home. It’s an hour and a half drive from them now in Beacon Hills, which is farther than Scott seemed to want to go, but it’s still within McCall territory, so it’s not too much of a risk as far as alliances with other supernaturals go. 

Kali and another wolf arrived at the abandoned building not long after Deucalion and Ethan, and as far as they could tell from the limited security cameras, they were all still there, even now. 

It gets patchy without Stiles to throw a spell over them to mask their scent, but being closer to the Alpha Pack gives them an advantage in getting to Stiles quickly when Kate decides to make her move. 

Derek wanders in and out of the room, staring at the map being made and plans being drawn, but says nothing. It’s better than hiding away in a closed room, Cora tells herself, even though the quiet shell of her brother she’s watching isn’t who she wishes would be here.

By five, they’re all settling in throughout different rooms of the house to get some rest. Chris and Danny were able to reset the alarm systems even though Kate had destroyed them. Lydia sets a mountain ash barrier, locking them all in, but also keeping any one else out. It goes against all her instincts to stand behind Lydia and watch her lay it down, but at least she can fall asleep and know that Derek won’t be able to run off again.

 

 

She wakes up to chaos, which is starting to feel normal. Isaac sits up next to her and puts his hand out, telling her to wait, and the two of them focus on the noise downstairs.

It’s Derek and someone else, snarling and shouting. Scott is telling them to stop, voice calm, but bordering on an Alpha command. 

“It’s Ethan,” Liam says, appearing in the doorway. “Lydia moved the line so Chris and Jackson could go out and get some more supplies from Chris’ and he crept in the back yard. Derek found him. Might kill him.”

Cora and Isaac are jumping up immediately, pushing past Liam to get to a place where they can see what’s going on. They join everyone else in the backyard, practically sliding to a stop behind the growing group of their pack watching the spectacle. 

Derek has Ethan pinned, mouth around his neck. Ethan, for what it’s worth, is fully human, holding completely still under Derek. Scott is a few feet away, speaking calmly to Derek. 

Danny is kneeling a few feet back from Scott, smelling of fear and anger.

“I’ll order him up, but if you move, it’s over,” Scott’s saying, apparently talking to Ethan now. “Not a good time to show up uninvited.”

“Could argue that there never is,” Ethan answers, but he continues laying still. “I won’t move.”

“Derek,” Scott practically barks. “Get off.”

Derek pulls his mouth away from Ethan’s neck, but keeps him pinned. 

“Derek,” Scott warns.

Derek growls, flashing red eyes.

Scott growls back, eyes flashing too, and Derek moves away, a frustrated noise escaping his lips as he does. He bares his throat at Scott.

Scott nods at him a little and moves forward. “Stay there.” He tells Ethan. “Derek, I got it now, okay? I got him.”

Derek moves backward more, eyes never leaving Ethan.

“For being against our pack so much, it’s interesting to see you have an alpha under your control.”

“Not why you’re here, though,” Scott answers. “So you better get to it.”

“Can I sit up? This is a little weird.”

“Sit up. Keep your hands where we can see them.”

Ethan sits up easily and puts his arms slightly behind him to support him, but they’re still in sight.

“Anything?” Scott asks after a few seconds of silence. Ethan is staring at Danny, who stares back.

“I don’t want to be with them.” Ethan says, looking Scott in the eye. There’s no hint of a lie. “They think I’m coming here to get intel.”

“Proof?” Jackson asks, crossing his arms. Derek growls.

“Listen to my heartbeat.” He says, shrugging. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

“That’s not really enough,” Scott says, voice quiet.

“Then would you kill me?” Ethan asks, completely calm.

Danny curses and walks inside.

Cora thinks there’s history she’s missing there.

“Gladly,” Derek growls under his breath, still easily heard. Scott raises a hand at him to wait.

“You know I won’t.” Scott says, sighing. “I don’t work that way.”

“Where’s Stiles?” Ethan says, scanning the crowd. “He does.”

“Stiles isn’t here.” Scott says, voice rough.

Derek growls again. 

“You guys have grown.” Ethan says, eyes on Derek. “They’ll like him.”

Derek lunges forward again and Scott and Jackson jerk forward in order to stop him. 

“You’ve grown too,” Scott says, pushing Derek back into Jackson’s hold. “We’re not big fans of that.”

Ethan nods. “Two more. Sven is from Sweden. Killed fourteen family members and an emissary, but mostly sucks at hand-to-hand. Bree is dangerous, though she only killed four.”

“Only.” Scott says, disgusted.

“You know there’s a difference, McCall, don’t scoff at me.”

Scott sighs. “I have nothing for you here, Ethan.”

He nods, standing slowly. “I had to try.”

With that, he walks away.

It’s silent for a few minutes, surprisingly. “Get Derek inside.” Scott says, waving a hand toward the door. “And bring Danny back out.”

“Danny and Ethan dated.” Isaac tells Cora. “He expressed wanting to leave the Alpha pack but never did…Danny’s been broken up about it more and more each time we come head to head with them.”

“Why didn’t he leave?”

“He had a brother, Aiden. His twin.” Isaac says, nodding inside. “He died years ago, but I guess he just kept clinging to the Alpha pack after. It’s all he had left, I guess.”

“Did Aiden want to leave?”

“Lydia said he would.”

Huh. “So we can’t test him in any way?” Cora asks, frowning.

Isaac shrugs. “Not when something like Stiles’ life is on the line. We won’t.”

“Scott seems bothered by it.” He’s staring at the place where Ethan had disappeared into the trees, like he can will him back and somehow prove his innocence all at once.

“Scott thinks he can save everyone.” Isaac says, voice quiet. “He always has.”

“We’re going to save Stiles, right?” Cora asks, voice equally as quiet.

Isaac nods, but there’s hesitation behind it, and a sadness around his eyes.

 

Not long after, they’re packing the cars in order to be sure they’re all ready to leave after a few hours of sleep. Cora’s hefting a bag of groceries into the back of Chris’ SUV, balancing carefully on top of a storage container she saw earlier to be filled with guns when they all feel it. It’s a stretch inside that stings and makes Cora gasp in surprise.

Derek’s resounding howl is heard easily outside, even though she’s sure he’s upstairs locked in Stiles room. 

Stiles isn’t dead. He’s just injured. Badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe we're only 4 chapters away from the end. Thanks so much for your kind words always! <3


	11. here are the monsters we put in the box to test our strength against.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We make these  
> ridiculous idols so we can to what's behind them,  
> but what happens after we get up the ladder?  
> Do we simply stare at what's horrible and forgive it?  
> Here is the river, and here is the box, and here are  
> the monsters we put in the box to test our strength  
> against. Here is the cake, and here is the fork, and here's  
> the desire to put it inside us, and then the question  
> behind every question: What happens next?

Derek feels it a few seconds before Scott does, which is interesting only for a half second it takes to recognize that what he’s feeling is his mate suffering an injury of extreme severity. 

He howls, angry and pained, and then pushes past Scott, who’s clutching his chest like he can pull his own pain away. He stumbles down the stairs and outside, his lungs begging for air that doesn’t reek of his mate.

He collapses into Cora’s arms on the front porch, through choice or chance he’s unsure, but it’s not enough. He can still feel the pain deep inside of him, his wolf is begging to come to the surface, to tear, to howl, to bring revenge on behalf of Stiles. When he lets himself think that Kate is the one to cause that pain, he wants to howl again. Kate has only brought him pain and he wants it to end right now.

“We go now,” Scott says, slamming the door behind them. “Right now. We go right now and we confront them.”

Derek can’t imagine getting in a car for an hour and a half. Being trapped in close with these people he barely knows, people who probably deserve to be mourning this pain more than he does, but simultaneously feeling like they don’t deserve any part of Stiles. An hour and a half of waiting for the other shoe to drop, to feel the final tear of the bond snapping, Stiles disappearing for good. 

Scott tosses him a helmet and punches a code into the garage. There’s three bikes there — Derek’s not rode a motorcycle ever, and his last time riding a dirt bike was before the fire, but he pulls the helmet on and steps over the bike Scott motions at. Jackson takes the third bike, swinging a leg over and starting it up immediately. 

“Meet at the hotel. No stops outside of the hotel,” Scott shouts over the roar of the bikes. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s backing out of garage and turning the bike. He speeds out of the driveway, quickly followed by Jackson. Derek feels Cora’s eyes on him, comforting and sad, as he follows.

 

The air whipping against his chest is a needed distraction from the pain he can still feel deep inside his chest. He has to focus to feel the bond between he and Stiles and if he lets himself focus on anything else for a few seconds, it feels like he’s drowning. They’re speeding, weaving in and out of traffic, which thankfully is legal in California, though he thinks they would probably be doing it even if it weren’t. 

Red lights are spent in agony, the three of them all staring at the lights like they can magically change them. The second the lights flick to green, they speed forward. Scott finally leads them to a large stretch of empty roads, where they can really speed up and race toward where Stiles might be.

Derek has no idea how long it’s been since they left or how long until they arrive, but he knows that each second is a second closer to Stiles, and it’s almost enough. 

A while later, Scott slows down suddenly, and both Derek and Jackson’s bikes wobble as they try to respond as quickly as Scott had — he can’t see anything ahead of them for miles, and nothing is behind them. Scott puts a hand up, telling them to wait, and Derek nods, letting the bike drop to an even slower speed behind Scott. 

Thirty seconds later, he hears the roar of a fourth bike. It pulls out of a country side road and Derek immediately recognizes the driver. He kicks his bike up to a higher speed, inching closer to Scott where he had previously been hanging back. Scott drops his hand lower this time, telling Derek and Jackson to wait. 

Ethan.

“Kate just attacked. Sven is dead.” He shouts over the the engines. “Let me help!”

“Stiles is hurt!” Scott shouts back. “I’ll kill you if he dies!” 

Derek is surprised by the anger in Scott’s voice. He snarls beside Scott, not surprised that Jackson echoes it. 

“I know,” Ethan yells back, and Derek wonders which part of Scott’s statement he’s saying that too. “Let me help, Scott!”

Scott curses and nods, immediately pushing his bike to go a higher speed. Jackson and Derek follow immediately, but Ethan hangs back for a half a second, probably surpsirsed, before pushing his bike to respond to the faster speeds.

Scott barely slows down when they reach city limits, and now that they’re here, he keeps glancing behind him at Ethan, which makes Derek trust the guy even less. Ethan doesn’t respond to the obvious mistrust, just keeps his eyes forward and follows the three of them with a look of determination.

Scott leads them to Hilton and parks his bike in the closet spot. Jackson and Derek follow into the same spot, but Ethan parks a few spaces down. 

Scott marches straight to Ethan and curls his fingers in Ethan’s shirt. “I’ll kill you,” He hisses, the anger still shocking to Derek. “If he dies, I’ll kill you!”

Ethan is nodding, eyes never leaving Scott’s face. He believes.

“And leave Danny the fuck alone.” Jackson says, practically hissing, when Scott drops Ethan’s shirt and starts going toward the hotel lobby.

Ethan flinches at that, but he nods a little at Jackson too, so Jackson spits and follows Scott inside.

He stares at Derek. “You have a threat, man?”

Derek doesn’t answer, just stares back at him. He doesn’t trust him. He doesn’t like him. He doesn’t want him here. 

This is not his pack, though, and it’s not his decision. He turns without responding and walks inside to join Scott and Jackson at the front desk.

“We need room to sleep fourteen as close as possible.” Scott is saying. “Connected rooms, or suites, whatever.”

“What’s your price range?” The woman asks, looking suspicious.

“No limit,” Derek says, quickly.

She raises her eyebrows, but when Scott doesn’t say anything, she starts typing.

“I have six rooms in the same hallway. Three connect.”

“Perfect.” Derek answers, pulling his wallet. “We’ll take those.”

“How many nights?” She asks, still looking between Scott and Derek with obvious suspicion. 

“We’ll start with four.” Scott answers, jaw tight.

“What are you in town for?” She asks, faking sweet. 

“Family reunion,” Jackson answers, just as fake.

Ethan is standing at a display of maps and she keeps looking over at him. Derek feels like everything is a trap, his skin itching to let his wolf out.

“The rooms are 165$ a night each.” She says, twisting her tablet to show them. “Four nights and six rooms comes out to $3,960.”

Scott nods and starts getting his wallet out. Derek puts his card on the counter and slides his ID over as well.

She takes both. “I’m going to have to charge it all now.”

Derek nods. “Of course.”

“And there will be fees if any damages occur.”

“I would expect so.” Derek answers. “Though we don’t plan on creating any damages.”

 

Derek’s only been asleep for an hour when he wakes up with the pain deep inside his chest. He’s surprised that he doesn’t howl, not this time. It was the final piece in a slowly unraveling puzzle, the stretch of Stiles’ bond weakening every hour that passed. 

Stiles is gone.

He stands up just as the other people in the room start reacting to the same pain. Cora is crying. Lydia is sobbing. Jackson is staring out the window, arm around Lydia. Isaac is shielding his head from the invisible blow.

In the room next to them, Scott is pulling his shoes on, tears in his eyes. Danny and Kira are both sitting at computers still, but their hands are still, no longer typing or searching for answers in the thousands of security cameras they’ve managed to breach throughout the city. 

Liam and Malia are sitting on a bed, curling into each other in a way that looks uncomfortable. Malia crying, Liam looking angry. Chris is holding Melissa and they both are crying too, Melissa silently sobbing. 

Ethan sits quietly in a chair in the corner, staring ahead at the floor in front of him. His heartbeat beats erratically, but his face betrays no fear.

“I’m going.” Scott says, voice rough. “She’ll find us now.”

“Kali is dead.” Ethan says, voice barely audible. “I think it’s fair to assume they’re at the warehouse.”

“I’m looking at the cameras right now, they’re not at the fucking warehouse,” Danny hisses, wiping a tear from his eye furiously. 

“Then they tricked you somehow,” Ethan says, voice tinged with annoyance. “Kali is dead. Duke didn’t do it. He’s injured also.”

“I’m going.” Scott says again. “Ambush or not.”

Derek’s already opening the door. He feels almost numb, which is better than he had expected. It all feels like the final nail in a coffin he’s been building for himself since the fire, and if he doesn’t leave the warehouse alive, he’d be glad for it.

When he felt the snap of Tillie’s death, he remembers thinking that something terrible had happened. When August’s bond snapped seconds later, he stood up shakily from where he sat behind the stage. Olivia’s followed and makes him stumble into the person next to him. 

Laura was already calling for him across the room, being sushed by teachers and students alike.  
They both made their way for the doors. Lucy and Corrinne died simultaneously, and Laura shouted in pain. Dad died next, followed shortly by Wesley, the last humans. When mom’s bond snaps, Laura cries out and immediately started to transform, the Alpha status shocking her system enough to force a shift against her will. Derek shields her face in the hallway, hyperaware of the cameras everywhere. He gets her outside, ignoring the shouts from a classmate that the band was about to go on — Derek hated being in the band in the first place. His dad had encouraged him to participate in music and Derek never had the heart to tell him he’d prefer to never touch another musical instrument. 

He hasn’t. Touched any musical instruments, that is. It always felt wrong and somehow like betrayal, the idea of playing something that his father loved so much. It felt like a joke, participating in something he never had the heart to do in the first place, now that his father never could again. 

Despite it all, Laura was the one to drive them to the Hale house. At that point, it was charred remains, still burning in front of them. They’re twisting up the gravel driveway, the car sliding at the speeds Laura is making it do on the loose roads, when Cora comes running toward them. Laura slams on the brakes and gasps, a sob escaping. When she opens her door and gets out to meet Cora in the driveway, holding her and sobbing, Derek hears the fire trucks arriving, so he gets out and moves the car to the side of the road.

The firetrucks move past the three of them huddled on the side of the driveway and the chaos of the firefighters trying to extinguish the flames begins. The three of them move closer to the house, and Derek smells it then — strawberry vanilla perfume. 

Kate.

The perfume burns his nose and makes his chest feel tight. The key he’d given her is still on the chain, a stupid gift he’d thought was romantic, is laying at his feet. There’s a red lipstick kiss mark on the top of it. He steps over it, not wanting his sisters to see. 

Peter is pulled from the charred house not long after. Laura sobs louder as Peter shouts at them to get Corinne and Lucy. He must know they’re dead, he’d been laying over their bodies, he must’ve felt it, but he doesn’t stop shouting. His own body is nearly impossible to look at without feeling ill — skin melting in a way Derek didn’t think skin ever could.

The key burns a hole through his shoe, it feels like.

When an officer finally steps up to talk to them, asking Laura to come with him so they could discuss some things privately, Cora sits on the ground and sobs. She’s only thirteen. When Derek was thirteen, he felt like he was invincible. Cora knows they’re not, now, and that’s his fault.

He sits next to her, kicking gravel over the key at first, and then winces and pockets it. It feels hot in his pocket, like the key itself is enough to start another fire entirely.

 

Anyway. It’s in his pocket now. Still. 

It always has been.

It feels hot again, as it does sometimes. Derek knows it’s not — it’s just a key. There’s nothing special about it. 

He fishes it out of his pocket now. There’s noise around him, people discussing options, Scott’s yelling about something, Melissa’s pulling him in for a hug that he tries to refuse and then falls into.

It all doesn’t really matter, if Derek’s honest with himself. 

The lipstick is gone, worn off in his pocket on that first day. But if he looks closely, he thinks he can still see it some days. He stares at it now. It feels heavier, like the weight of Stiles’ life is held inside of it now, too. 

Cora touches Derek’s shoulder and he jerks away, somewhat unintentionally, but she moves back in and touches him again anyway. “Are you okay?” She asks, but it feels more like he’s reading her lips rather than hearing her speak. His ears feel full of cotton. Hot and wrong. 

He doesn’t respond. The easy answer is no. The expected answer, even. 

But he also thinks maybe he is okay.

Okay in the sense that he doesn’t really care what happens from here.  
Okay in the sense that he hopes his pack survives, but he’s okay if he doesn’t. 

“What is that?” Scott asks, nodding at the key Derek’s still holding. Melissa is still holding him, arms wrapped tightly around him. Everyone is crying now. Even Ethan. Everyone but Derek. 

“A key,” Derek answers, dumbly.

“Okay,” Scott says, like that makes sense.

Maybe it does.

“Are we going to confront her, then?” Danny asks, shutting his laptop. “We aren’t leaving without his body.”

Lydia lets out a sob at that, like she had forgotten what they’re all crying about, and the mention of a body is too much. Maybe it is.

Derek remembers the firefighters walking slowly across the still smoking floorpan of their childhood home, body bags slung over their shoulders. They would call out “body!” and lay down a body bag there before continuing to move throughout the house. He knew his family was dead, he knew they died in quick succession to one another. At the time, though, each time they yelled out “Body!” and dropped a bag, it felt like a new wound.

This time, when Danny mentions it, it feels kind of like a joke.

Derek has visited his family only four times since the fire and each time it was because Laura forced him to go. Their bodies are there, but what’s the point? They’re not. 

Stiles is not coming back. Bringing a body back to Beacon Hills is kind of…selfish. They want the body for what? A funeral? To bury? For themselves. 

“We should’ve found him before it was just a body,” Derek finds himself saying. “I should’ve never let him go.”

“Don’t start that game,” Chris says, stern. “That helps no one, Derek.”

“It’s not untrue,” Malia says, and Derek is actually thankful for the honesty. 

“Malia,” Lydia hisses, crying harder, but Derek shrugs.

“Are we going or not?” Danny asks, irritated.

“We have no intel.” Chris says, clearing his throat. “Going in blind is never the answer.”

Derek bends to tie his shoes, the key laying between his feet on the floor. He can see his reflection in it and is not surprised that he looks unaffected by the day. A little, tired, maybe. Not torn apart like Scott looks. Lydia is still sobbing. Isaac looks wrecked. Derek looks fine. He’s accepted it, which is more than he can say for most of his life about everything else. He’s not okay with it. But it happened. Stiles is gone. The perfect mate. His lifetime of happiness. Gone.

He didn’t deserve him, and now he’s gone. It’s unsurprising, is all. 

“What is that?” Cora asks.

“A key,” He says again. Because it is.

“He already said that,” Malia says, sounding irritated.

“I did.” He agrees.

“Where are you going?” Danny asks, when Derek stands up and pockets the key again. 

“I’m going to kill Kate.” Derek says, opening the door.

“Derek, please wait,” Cora says, fresh tears falling.

“For what?” Derek asks, and the room is silent. Because there’s not really a reason too. Because they somehow have gotten no new intel since arriving yesterday and they sure as hell aren’t going to somehow get more now that it’s all gone to shit. He nods his head a little and goes.

He takes the stairs because standing still for any period of time seems wrong at this point, having already stood around and watched everyone cry for several minutes. Crying doesn’t undo Stiles’ death. 

Killing Kate doesn’t either, but a bitch can only wreak so much havoc before she gets what’s coming to her. 

As he approaches the motorcycle he’d driven here, he realizes he left the helmet in the hotel room, but he has the key, so it doesn’t really matter. He’s not going far, and really, who cares?

Scott is beside him suddenly, both of them swinging their legs over the top of the bikes simultaneously. Chris is getting into his SUV a few spaces down; Kira, Liam, Malia, Danny, Lydia and Jackson all getting in also. Melissa gets into the jeep, and Isaac and Cora are climbing in too. Jackson bumps Derek’s shoulder as he gets to his bike. Ethan is the one to start his bike first, and when he backs out of his space and starts cruising toward the exit, Derek follows.

Their convoy sticks together. When the four bikers could have easily gone through a yellow light, they stop instead, the SUV and Jeep behind them. Derek doesn’t focus on anything except the still-stinging pain of Stiles’ bond snapping, because focus on anything else seems unimportant. Truly. 

Ethan swings his bike to a stop in an empty parking lot of an abandoned building. There’s boards up over the large windows and graffiti covering the walls. Derek can smell strawberry vanilla here.

He doesn’t wait for the rest of the pack to unload, he just moves toward the building. Ethan tells him to wait, but he doesn’t respond. Wait for what? There’s not really a point, again. 

The door is propped open with a brick and it smells like magic and blood and strawberry vanilla perfume. He glances behind him now, listening to the sounds inside the building — there’s nothing to give away who’s inside, but he can hear heartbeats, so it’s not like being quiet really changes anything.

Chris and Jackson are going around the side of the building with Ethan. Danny is loading a gun from the open back of the SUV, and Lydia is standing patiently beside him. 

Malia is right behind him. 

“I’m not saving your ass,” Malia says. “So don’t do anything stupid.”

“I wouldn’t want you too,” Derek answers. “And leave my body.”

“Leave mine, too.” Malia answers. “Who the fuck cares about a body?”

Peter is no where to be seen, Derek realizes then, as he ponders how he’s related to this girl he barely knows, and maybe they get their disinterest in funerals from some weird family bond. He hadn’t been in the hotel room last night when Derek fell asleep, and he wasn’t in the hotel room a few hours later when Derek woke up with the pain of Stiles’ death.

Peter was unavailable pre-fire most of the time. He always had something. It’s not unsurprising that he’s unavailable post-fire, also.

Derek pulls open the door and goes inside. Malia follows.

There’s still aisles left from whatever store this was years ago. The product signs are faded and dusty, and Derek doesn’t really care to look closer at them to find out what the shelves once held. 

He follows the trail of strawberry vanilla. He can smell Stiles, too, but it’s just his body and who the fuck cares about a body?

Isaac and Cora, his brain tells him, as they move the opposite direction of where he’s going. Malia is following Derek, either because she thinks this is the better way to go, or because she wants to keep an eye on Derek — maybe she’ll kill him herself — but Derek doesn’t really care. He’s going to find Kate and he’s going to kill her and then he’s going to find Deucalion and kill him. If there are others, he’ll kill them, too. He hopes they are others. 

Kate has a ring of mountain ash around her. It’s easy to smell, and even easier to spot. Derek still doesn’t take his eyes off her. She’s just standing, grinning. She has a cattle prod, and something inside of him shivers at the sight of it, remembering the pulsing pain, and then he grins at it — because who the fuck cares about a body? He does. He cares about Kate’s body and nothing else.

“Hi, baby,” She says, still smiling. “You took so long to come.”

“You killed him,” Derek responds, ignoring how he wants to flinch. He hates being called baby. She was the only one who ever did and she knows this, it seems, knows how it makes his skin crawl and his wolf want to howl.

He’s still human, even though he knows Malia had shifted immediately upon turning the corner to find Kate standing here. She’s quiet behind him, staring only at Kate.

“I did not,” She says, shaking her head. “Deucalion did.” 

“You brought him here.” Malia hisses.

Kate barely looks at Malia before looking back to Derek. “Sure, I guess. But Deucalion was coming for your little pack anyway, so it would’ve been inevitable.”

“We could’ve saved him.” Malia says, moving in front of Derek.

“Derek sure did try,” Kate says, grinning. “It was fun to see you wither, baby. I’ve always like the sight of you unable to control yourself.”

Derek growls. 

“Stiles had a lot to say about you,” She says, and he growls louder. His wolf is there, just below the surface, begging to be let out. He feels the ripples of it, pulsing throughout each part of his body. 

Let me out. Let me at her. Let me out. Let me at her.

“His clever little threats were sweet.” Kate turns the cattle prod on and swings it at Malia, who gets too close.

Malia jumps back before it hits her skin, a growl echoing through the aisles.

“You going to stand in your circle forever?” Malia asks, stepping closer again. 

Kate shrugs a little, smiling. “It’s a nice place.”

When she swings the cattle prod back at Malia, Derek takes hold of it and yanks it, pulling her forward with it. A rain of bullets comes down on them before he can regroup from the electrocution, and Malia barely gets her claws against Kate before she’s stumbling back into her circle. Malia and Derek both take cover behind an aisle, Malia dragging him further behind it when one of the bullets tears through his bicep.

“Fuck, good move, sorry,” Malia is saying. “I wasn’t ready, I’m sorry.”

Derek shakes his head, unwilling to take an apology from her. He owes this pack his life and he’s willing to give it. “I need you angry,” He hisses, wiping at the blood on his arm. “I’m fucking angry, so be fucking angry.”

Her face goes hard immediately and she nods. Derek’s not sure if it’s an act, this anger she has now, but he doesn’t really care. He doesn’t deserve an apology from her, he doesn’t deserve anything. He wants Kate’s body and that’s it. 

“Leave my body,” Derek says, when the bullets finally stop coming. 

“No one cares about a fucking body,” Malia agrees.

More bullets sound throughout the building, but this time it seems like it’s coming from the ground, not the rafters, so Derek thinks it’s probably Chris. Maybe Danny or Lydia. 

He hears a shout, and then the hunter’s body falls and hits the ground and the sound is disgusting and satisfying all at once.

Malia and Derek both leave the cover of the aisle to find Kate looking worried. The look only lasts a few seconds, and then she’s grinning at them again. 

“Lost your cover pretty quickly,” Malia says. “Bummer.”

“If you think I came in with only one teammate, you’re stupid, sweetie.” She grins a little. “Though, you’re a Hale, so I guess that may just run in the family.”

There’s chaos somewhere else in the store, growling and shouting and things crashing. A fight, no doubt. 

Malia turns toward it and Kate takes the second of distraction to step out momentarily and shock Malia with the cattle prod.

Malia stumbles, growling, shift fading momentarily, but it’s not long enough to really incapacitate her. Just piss her off.

Derek smells Peter, and it’s not comforting.

He doesn’t trust Peter. He’s never trusted Peter easily — he always watched too closely, seemed too invested and grinned too quickly. 

Then he killed Laura.

“I didn’t even kill him,” Kate says, drawing the attention back to her. “Deucalion did. Your revenge is pointless against me.”

“You took him here,” Malia says. “Revenge is never wasted.”

Kate laughs. “Oh, I like you,” She turns to Derek. “I always assumed you’d be more like that. I spent a year looking over my shoulder for you. You just rolled over and let it happen though. Like a scared puppy.”

Derek flashes his eyes at her, but doesn’t speak. It’s what she wants — someone to play their part in her story. He’s played enough of a part.

Lydia screams and it sends a chill down his spine. He’s never heard a banshee scream and honestly knows very little about what can cause it, but he can only assume it’s never good news.

Malia looks to that corner of the building, muscles twitching. “Go.” Derek says, not bothering to look. She does.

Kate’s comfortable with this now. He can smell it on her, see it on her face. She’s smart enough to know that she can’t take two angry werewolves. But she’s smart enough to know how to try her best against one. 

“He wasn’t afraid for himself,” Kate says, quietly. “He wanted to protect his pack.”

Derek doesn’t respond. That’s the game. He knows this now.

“He tried to play it casual when it came to you,” She continues, sounding bored. “But he’d already shown his cards too early when he threw himself over your body back at his daddy’s house.”

He’s not playing her game. 

“It was fun to watch him squirm, though. Throw a few threats toward you, casual and calm.”

He’s getting bored.

“I saw the tattoo though. It’s not hard to decipher.”

His eyes flash involuntarily at that. She grins. 

“The flames are a cute addition. I feel like you should be thanking me for that.”

He wants to lunge. He won’t, though. Not now. She’s still in her circle.

Cora shouts his name from somewhere else in the building and he clenches his jaw. She doesn’t sound hurt, but she sounds scared.

“Revenge for your human pet or rescue for your baby sister?” Kate asks, grinning. 

The choice is made for Derek, in a way, when Liam comes sliding around the corner of an aisle. He has a broom, which he throws down across the floor, allowing it to slide through the mountain ash, breaking it easily and leaving Kate unprotected. 

Derek’s pouncing in the same second, calling his wolf forward as he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truuuust me please ;) <3  
> Thanks so much for all the kind words last chapter!


	12. you still get to be the hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a while I thought I was the dragon.  
> I guess I can tell you that now. And, for a while, I thought I was  
>  the princess,  
> cotton candy pink, sitting there in my room, in the tower of the castle,  
>  young and beautiful and in love and waiting for you with  
> confidence  
>  but the princess looks into her mirror and only sees the princess,  
> while I’m out here, slogging through the mud, breathing fire,  
>  and getting stabbed to death.  
>  Okay, so I’m the dragon. Big deal.  
>  You still get to be the hero.

When he lands on the floor on top of Kate, he’s fully wolf. He’d felt the shift this time, felt his bones cracking and moving to become new. He’s confident in his ability to call this shift forward now, which is surprising and comforting and too much to concentrate on in this moment.

This moment, where he has Kate under him. Kate, who killed his whole family after tricking him. Kate, who took his mate from him. Kate, who keeps taking.

He wants to take his time. He wants to hear her scream. But Cora screams his name again, and Liam is already gone, back to the chaos of the fight in the opposite corner, so he gives up on the fantasy he’d allowed himself to think up and goes in for the kill.

Kate is always one step ahead, though. He should know this. It’s not this easy. It will never be easy when Kate is the opponent. Her eyes are a bright gold, there’s claws at Derek’s side and a — were jaguar? — beneath him. It seems like intel Scott should’ve known. Peter, even. It seems so fucking obvious now — she’s not fragile and easy because she has a one-up in every sense. So she’s not even a hunter now, she’s just — she’s just after Derek to be after him. It makes him angrier.

They claw and bite and scramble against each other, blood and teeth and skin and fur. They’re both snarling, growling, fighting in an animalistic way for their lives. For once Kate is quiet other than her growling, no shrill taunting or passive flirting. Derek doesn’t even care if he dies, that hasn’t changed — he needs Kate dead first, though, and whatever it takes is whatever it takes.

“Derek!” Cora screams again, sounding completely broken now. “Please!”

Derek can’t leave Cora alone. He can’t leave Cora alone, and the sound of her screaming like that makes him think she may be alone. Where’s Isaac? He was supposed to protect her. They all were. It’s enough to make him slam Kate down, her head smacking against the wall, her body slumped awkwardly in the space where the floor meets the wall. 

Derek darts down an aisle, leaving Kate heaving against the wall, bleeding and injured but not dead, against all instinct to finish the kill, in order to follow the instinct to protect pack.

He lets himself think of what Cora may have had to hear as their family burned. She never talked about it and they never asked her about it, the idea of it too gut-wrenching for Derek. Laura tried to make them talk about a lot of things, but she never forced them to discuss That Day. It was survival instinct for all of them, he thinks, to avoid it. They got to the hotel late that night, and Laura pulled her into a deep hug, and asked “Where were you? You’re okay, how are you okay?” And Cora had just sobbed. Eventually she told them that she had been outside playing in the treehouse. Derek could only assume she hid there as everyone burned. But he doesn’t really know, and for some reason that seems important right now. 

They had to have been screaming. You don’t burn to death in silence. You don’t burn to death surrounded by your family, feel their lives end within yourself, and die silently. They had to have been screaming, and Derek thinks Cora probably was too. 

Derek was up at night most nights with the words Kate had said to him echoing in his ears. How long has Cora sat up with the sound of their pack dying in her ears? Stiles had no one to hear him go. No one of worth, anyway. Derek thinks he probably died quietly, and that feels worse. 

Cora isn’t hurt. She’s hiding between two aisles that had collapsed. Lydia is with her, crying, and Danny is laying down too, bleeding badly. He can’t tell if it’s a bullet wound or claws, and thinks maybe it’s possible it’s both. Danny’s eyes are closed, but the choppy rise and fall of his chest is unmistakable, even if it’s obvious it’s forced. 

Cora doesn’t seem surprised to see him in this form. “You have to help Scott,” She says, crying. “He’s losing. We all are.”

He nods at Danny on the ground and then toward the exit. There’s still gunshots ringing throughout, and Derek assumes it’s Chris engaging with Kate’s crew. He hopes it’s Chris, at least.

If he focuses now, he can tell that his pack is losing, like Cora says. Jackson and Scott are both badly injured. Chris and Melissa are both hurt, not nearly as dire as Scott and Jackson, but it’s still enough to feel the pain through the bond. Parrish is hurt, too, but Derek’s glad to feel that Parrish seems to be healing, however slowly that may be. Danny, obviously, he doesn’t need to focus on the bond to feel that, he’s bleeding out in front of Derek right now. 

Cora nods and starts scooting back toward Danny. She slips a hand under his neck. “Help me, Lydia,” Cora says, nudging her. “We need to get him out. You too. Help me.”

Lydia’s looking at Derek like she’s sorry. Like she’s guilty. 

Oh.

He knocks his head into her knee.

It’s okay, Lydia, he tries to say. I don’t mind.

She grabs his head and hugs it, awkward and squished here under the collapsed shelves. Awkward anyway, because he’s a wolf and she’s a human. Awkward because they don’t know each other, not really. 

But she’s sorry. She’s sorry that Stiles is gone, and she’s sorry that he’s next. Cora sees them and starts crying, like maybe she’s realizing now what this means, too. 

Derek is going to die. Stiles had said sometimes they could beat it. But they didn’t beat it with Lydia’s prediction with Stiles, and he hopes they don’t beat it now. Stiles had said sometimes they beat it, but it’s okay if they don’t. 

I’ll be with him, he says, pushing into Lydia again. I don’t mind.

And then he backs out of the collapsed shelf shelter and stalks toward the main fight. To his death, apparently.

Hopefully. 

For a long time, Derek thought of himself as the victim. Not even after the fire necessarily, just…in general. He was bitter about not being able to compete at his highest level in sports and he was bitter that Laura was smarter than him, and he was bitter that his mom seemed to baby Cora more than she should. It’s why, when Kate paid attention to him, he was so flippantly trusting. He felt like he wasn’t being held back or hidden. Obviously, he still hid who he was — a werewolf who’s bitter about being a werewolf still knows the importance of a secret — but he felt valued by her, and it felt good. After the fire, he felt like a victim of his own stupidity, but at least he had Kate to really blame — he may have let the dragon in, but the dragon was still the one that chose to light the fire. 

That line of thinking only lasted so long. You let yourself stew in the fact that you gave the dragon a key, and well, suddenly you don’t feel like much else other than a dragon yourself. Being a werewolf was a gift. Why didn’t he see it as a gift? He shouldn’t have been so bitter, so stupid, so quick to let himself feel like a victim. He could have saved his whole family if he hadn’t become so obsessed with the idea of being in charge. 

Coming to terms with being the dragon was a step in the right direction, at some point, but it never really changed much, not until Laura was gone and Cora was close to be really alone, alone in a way that no one should be, so he forced himself to push the dragon away. Be an Alpha. Be a knight, coming to save the day. 

Stiles was alone in that way no one should really be. Not in his life, though he had no family left, but in his death. He was surrounded by dragons. No knight came to save him. It’s unfair. It makes Derek angry. It makes a fire burn in his throat and beneath his skin.

Is Derek the dragon? Maybe. Is he the knight? Maybe. Who’s the princess that needs saving? Himself, maybe. It doesn’t matter in the end. 

He watches the fight from the collapsed shelves until Cora and Lydia have Danny close to escape on the other end, and then he’s throwing himself into the middle of it. There’s three enemies, as far as he can tell, and it’s taking multiple attacks at once to even really get a leg up on them. Deucalion is easy to pick out, his face burned into Derek’s memory. He wants revenge on behalf of Stiles and he doesn’t want to leave here without it. Kali looks just like her picture that Derek had seen at the Stilinski house. Derek assumes the other is Bree, who he remembers Ethan saying was incredibly talented in a fight — the lack of deep wounds visible confirms this.

Kali shouts to Deucalion that there’s a full shift wolf among them, and he stops blocking Jackson’s vicious clawing for a second, twisting his head in Derek’s direction, and then he smiles and throws Jackson back with surprising strength, but even more surprising is the accuracy at which he grabs for him. Stiles had warned Derek about that — he’s not completely blind.

Derek needs to be in his beta form, as frustrating as that is. He wants to be able to communicate with Scott and the others, which is impossible as a wolf. He enjoys the ease of the fight, the instinct over thought, but it’s not enough. Not when there’s so many moving parts and no one else is moving on instinct. He wants revenge on behalf of his dead mate, and he’s afraid he can’t do it this way. 

When Derek transforms back into his beta form, he focuses hard on the change. How his bones break and shift to become human again, how the hair sinks back to skin, how the fangs recede and the paws turn to hands. He forces himself to ignore the pain of the shift in order to focus on where his wolf goes. 

He feels it, just as he always has, deep in his chest. Just below the skin yet somehow deeper. He can feel the thoughts of his wolf like they’re a second home. He holds it there as he moves forward into the fight. 

It’s distracting. Instinct vs conscience thought. Wolf vs human.

But it feels necessary and good, and he holds it there. 

Kate is still somewhere in here, probably with access to guns, so he’d like to get this finished quickly. He moves in on Kali first. Isaac and Liam are both circling her, all three of them bleeding and injured. He makes eye contact with Liam, who nods just slightly, and then Derek makes a move. If he distracts her from the front, even for only a few seconds, Liam and Isaac can try to move in from the side or back and make a fatal hit. 

It works better than he expected, so the blood splattering against his face and neck as Isaac rips her throat open is shocking, enough to make him stumble backward straight into Bree. She rips at his neck with her own fangs, but Liam and Isaac and Jackson all pull her away. 

He’s painfully aware of how bad it hurts, and how wet his body is becoming with the blood pouring down his body on that side, but he’s even more aware of the fact that Stiles is still dead and Deucalion is still not, so he bares his teeth in Bree’s direction and then moves in beside Scott.

Scott doesn’t look good, either. He’s limping and if Derek bothered looking longer than a few seconds, he thinks it would be obvious that Scott’s leg is badly broken. Wounds sustained by an Alpha take longer to heal, which he’s trying to remember as it feels like his neck isn’t even attempting to heal. The good news is, they’re now pretty evenly matched — two alphas against two alphas.

Derek doesn’t want to write off the rest of their pack, but they’re all badly injured and what really counts is fatal wounds and Derek, Isaac, and Liam had gotten lucky with Kali already, so it’s a little much to think they’ll get lucky again. 

“This can all end,” Deucalion says, holding Scott in a dangerous looking hold.

Derek remembers then that the point here was never to kill Scott — it’s his pack that is unimportant. He wants Scott’s power. He won’t kill Scott. Their pack seems to know this too, and they all stand frozen, hearts beating quickly — not in fear, but in anticipation. 

“You know it won’t.” Scott says, spitting blood. He tries to jerk away, but Deucalion’s hold is stronger.

“A truce, maybe,” He says, and he keeps looking over at Kali’s body, like maybe she’ll stand up suddenly, ready to fight alongside him again. The blood pooling around her throat should be enough of an answer, but Deucalion is blind.

“You lost your chance at that the second Stiles died,” Scott snarls, ripping himself away from Deucalion’s hold.

Deucalion grins, but says nothing. Derek snarls at him, feeling the anger deep within him. 

Something hurts inside of Derek. Something feels wrong. He glances at his pack, hoping to get a clue that he’s not alone, but they’re all still steadily watching Deucalion and Bree, no indication of this feeling being experienced by anyone else.

There’s gunshots somewhere upstairs, and everyone, even Deucalion and Bree, seem distracted by it momentarily. Derek hadn’t really noticed the gunshots stop before, but when they suddenly start up again, he realizes he hadn’t been paying attention to the second floor. 

Derek can’t breathe. Something is wrong and he can’t place it. 

Cora is safe. He can feel her bond strong and mostly unharmed, so he tries to force himself to focus on something other than the pain. 

The gunshots stop upstairs, and it’s frighteningly silent for several seconds before Melissa and Chris come into view. Chris is injured, but he’s breathing and standing, so Derek doesn’t rush to help him. He’s not sure that he would, even if that weren’t the case, honestly. 

Liam and Isaac do move to help them, though, so at least Derek doesn’t have to feel guilty about what could have been a wrong choice.

There’s still a pain in his chest, but when he really focuses, it’s not a pain, exactly just — a feeling. It’s strong, deep and sharp. He runs through the bonds again. People are injured, but no one is dead, and most importantly, Cora is not dead. 

He remembers Lydia telling him he was going to die, and thinks maybe that’s what’s happening. He finds it kind of funny that so little time had passed since that moment under the collapsed shelves with Lydia, and somehow he’d forgotten about it. 

Bree moves quickly, darting forward while everyone watches Liam help Chris down the stairs, and grabs Jackson. She has claws over his throat in seconds, left arms holding him tight to her chest. 

It’d kill him in seconds. 

Scott growls but doesn’t move.

“We just want you to join us,” Deucalion says, grinning. “Or we’ll start picking them off one by one for you.”

“I’m not going to kill him,” Scott snarls, eyes darting between Deucalion and Jackson. Jackson looks angry, but he also looks scared. There’s tears in his eyes and it’s hard to look at. 

He remembers Lydia telling him he was going to die, and he thinks maybe this is it, but he also thinks he can outsmart it. 

The pain — sharp feeling — Derek is trying to ignore is coming from the same area he feels his wolf most. It’s like — it’s like it’s splitting away from him. Can that happen? He doesn’t know. He remembers a fight with his dad one night, before the fire, before Kate even showed up in New York. He had been mad that his dad was human and he’d been mad that he’d been born a werewolf. He wanted to be like his dad, and he’d yelled and screamed to be ‘cured’. There was no cure, his dad told him, there was nothing to cure. You’re a werewolf and that’s it. 

But it feels like it’s splitting away from him now. 

He can sense Cora coming back, sneaking in quietly and wishes she would’ve stayed outside, especially as he makes up his mind. 

“I’ll join you.” Derek says, working the plan out in his head as he says it. “I’ll join you.” There’s not a hint of a lie in his heartbeat and he knows it. Bree twists Jackson along with her to look more squarely at him. Jackson is staring at him like he’s betrayed — and in his eyes, Derek guesses he is.

Derek doesn’t need this pack. He needs strength to kill Kate. He needs revenge, and the McCall pack can’t do it for him, they can’t even do it with him, so he’ll find a pack that can.

“You’re a rogue Alpha,” Deucalion says. “Bonded to McCall but with your own power.”

Derek nods. He’d done a little research at the Stilinski house — Stiles had more books on werewolf lore and rumors than he thought possible, and the time he spent alone, mourning Stiles’ disappearance was also spent poring over the books, trying to figure out why his eyes wouldn’t fade back to blue. He hated the blue, but he still ached for them under Scott’s control as his Alpha. 

“Stop,” Scott says, stepping toward Derek. “What the hell are you doing? He wouldn’t have — you can’t do this.”

Derek snarls at Scott. Don’t bring Stiles into this. Don’t. It’s the obvious choice on Scott’s part, but Derek’s afraid it will make him falter. Cora steps up behind Malia. She’s crying, but she’s quiet, at least. He wonders if she believes he has a plan or if she’s just not surprised. 

“I want to kill that one,” He says, eyes on Jackson. “He tortured my mate.”

Jackson growls, twisting against Bree’s grip. Bree tightens her hold, pressing her claws closer to his neck. They’re both breathing heavily, but Jackson’s eyes don’t leave his. They’re searching for some sort of idea of what Derek’s doing, but Derek can’t give him one. A split second of wavering away and it’s all over. 

If Derek’s wrong, then he’s dead. If Derek’s right, then maybe he’s dead but Scott’s pack lives. If they’re smart enough to act on this, maybe they live. 

“Cora,” Scott yells, as Derek moves forward toward Bree and Jackson. “What about Cora?”

“You took her from me,” Derek snarls, and that one actually feels true in a way he wishes it didn’t. “I have no one.” Cora sobs out, falling into Malia. She looks absolutely wrecked. 

“You have us,” Malia says, and that one almost pulls Derek out of his focus. He has to close his eyes to keep from thinking of what that means, when just minutes ago she’d promised, without a hint of a lie, that she wouldn’t save his ass. She blamed him easily in the hotel for Stiles’ death, but here she was, begging him to stay pack.

It says a lot about the strength of the McCall pack.

Derek is not apart of the McCall pack, though. Not now. He forces himself to think as his wolf. Focus. Not on Stiles. Instinct. Instinct says revenge.

“Take him, then,” Deucalion says, waving a hand. 

Derek slides in between Bree and Jackson, placing claws over his neck right where Bree had. He looks Scott in the eye for exactly three seconds before he makes his move. He just has to hope it’s enough. He has to hope the bond he feels to Scott is felt strongly enough by Scott to believe him. 

He knows it will hurt Jackson, but he also hopes that what he’s doing works in their favor and Jackson can forgive him. He kicks at the back of Jackson’s legs, wincing at the snap of one leg breaking, and shoves him forward with both hands. Scott catches him easily and then is quickly passing him off to Malia, barely looking at him.

Bree moves in on Derek and rips her claws through his chest, snarling.

Chris starts shooting and Scott ducks behind an aisle, Malia and Cora dragging Jackson along with them. Isaac launches himself forward the second Deucalion falls — hit by Chris’ rain of bullets — and rips his throat out. Good. Gone. 

Bree rips at Derek’s chest again, and he howls as she hits right where he thought — he hoped — she might. Everything hurts all at once.

And then everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cannot believe the kind reception this is getting. Thanks so much for loving it & for telling me your thoughts! Sorry for the later update today <3


	13. tell me we're dead and i'll love you even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me we're dead and I'll love you even more.  
> I'm surprised that I say it with feeling.

He wakes up in the hotel room. It’s slow and painful. His neck still feels weak and torn open and his chest is tight, each breath a fight. He doesn’t open his eyes immediately, trying instead to focus on the noises around him. He feels the emptiness of being alone despite being surrounded by his pack, and he takes a minute to revel in the fact that his plan worked. It worked, but he still feels like shit as an omega.

Cora’s crying. Scott is pulling his pain, but Derek can tell that it’s starting to be too much, even for him. Jackson is talking to Lydia nearby, but their voices are too low for him to hear.

“Derek?” Cora asks, sniffling. “Are you awake?”

He grunts, rather than try to form a response. Everything still feels foggy and wrong. Everything hurts and he’s freezing cold and he kind of wishes he were dead. 

He remembers the game of Worst Case Scenario that he and Stiles had played in the car on the way to Beacon Hills. They hadn’t really needed to go past “Stiles dies” for it to be the worst case scenario, and everything feels really heavy now that he’s sure that’s what happened. Stiles died, and he lived.

“Give him a minute.” Scott says, voice quiet. “Hey, someone grab my mom. Derek’s waking up.”

“The asshole awakens,” Jackson says, but his voice sounds fond, so Derek thinks it’s okay.

Derek bares his teeth halfheartedly. It’s probably not very not convincing when he won’t even open his eyes. 

The bed dips a little and someone, he assumes Melissa, puts a hand on his forehead. “Hey, can you open your eyes, Derek?”

He forces them open, glad that most of the lights are off. It still feels overwhelming and he has to really resist the urge to just let them fall closed again.

“How do you feel?” She asks, voice quiet.

He squints at her and then closes his eyes again. Is that really something he has to answer? His mate is dead, he’s an omega, his chest is torn open and Bree practically tore his throat out. He feels like shit.

“You with us, Derek?” Scott asks, sounding overly concerned.

Derek lets his eyes drop open again. “I feel like shit.” He says, plainly.

Malia and Liam come into the room, opening the door quietly until they see him, and then shutting it loudly. Malia’s holding a drink tray and a bag of food and she discards both on the table in the corner before coming to look closer at Derek. 

“Hey, sleeping beauty awakens,” Malia says, sounding bored, but she smells happy, so Derek knows it’s a front. “Hey, did you make him show his eyes yet?” She adds, coming up to the side of the bed. 

Liam is balancing four drinks in his hands, apparently not taking advantage of a drink tray, and has a bag of fast food around his wrist. He rolls his eyes at her as he tries to get the drinks on a table without knocking the food all over the place.

“No,” Scott says, clearing his throat. “He literally just woke up. Keep it down, he’s overwhelmed.”

“Let’s see ‘em, Derek,” Malia says, ignoring Scott’s request for quiet. 

He flashes his eyes, completely unsurprised that they’re beta blue again. Cora gasps, like it surprises her, though, and he feels a little guilty and a little ashamed. She’s known him with blue eyes, though — he’s had them since before the fire. It’s not shock at that, but that’s what he feels guilty about.

“Did you know that’d happen?” Liam asks. “That they would somehow kill the Alpha out of you?”

Derek shakes his head. “I managed to do it with Peter. Was worth a shot to try to save Jackson, though.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds.

“When can we get him back in the pack?” Cora asks at the same time that Jackson says “I really appreciate it, obviously.”

Derek nods in Jackson’s direction, not really fan of talking about feelings and gratitude. 

“You were willing to die for him, of all people?” Malia asks, amusement in her voice.

“You told me you wouldn’t save my ass,” Derek says, grinning a little. “Couldn’t be you.”

She tosses a fry from the bag of fast food at him. It hits him in the chest because he’s too weak and lazy to make an attempt to catch it.

“I know it’s your coping mechanism,” Lydia says, sounding unimpressed, “but I’m not really able to joke about this all right now.” She’s glaring at Malia, but Derek still feels guilty.

Derek exhales and closes his eyes again. He doesn’t really have the energy to follow the argument or apologize for his part in it. He doesn’t even really know if he has a part in it. 

“Derek almost died to save Jackson. It’s not a joke.” Lydia says, when Malia doesn’t respond. 

“We were all there,” Malia says, voice irritated. “It’s not lost on me what it meant.”

“Then can you shut up for five minutes and let him process what he did? He went in an alpha and came out an omega. He’s really hurt and things went way wrong in there and I’m just not — I’m not willing to laugh about it right now.”

“That’s not fair —” Malia says, but then Scott cuts her off.

“Hey. We’re not fighting about this right now. Derek was willing to sacrifice himself to save Jackson, and that’s not lost on any of us. But Cora’s right. Derek will heal faster with the bond of a pack.”

“Can we do a ceremony without him?” Liam asks, and Derek’s surprised at how much it hurts in his chest to have Stiles mentioned.

He’s not the only one. Sadness is easily the strongest scent in the room within half a second. 

“Yes.” Isaac says, from beside Derek. Derek opens his eyes. “Boyd, Erica and I all did it in the beginning without all the fancy stuff.”

Scott nods. “Isaac’s right.” 

“So?” Cora asks.

“Anytime you want to, Derek,” Scott says, pulling his arm away. He winces as the residual pain travels up his arm. “You can just state your alliance to our pack. I’ll accept it and it all should work out.”

“Should?” Cora asks, narrowing her eyes. Scott pales a little and shrugs. Melissa squeezes Derek’s hand. 

“I vow allegiance to Scott McCall and the McCall pack,” Derek says, ignoring Cora. 

“I accept Derek Hale into the pack,” Scott answers quickly. 

He feels it, just as he had with the ceremony with Stiles, but it’s slower. Cora and Scott show up first, and Isaac and Lydia appear not long after. Jackson pops up, and Malia is next. The humans and Liam fizzle in slower. He assumes it has to do with how weak his body is, but he’s sure his mental state and disinterest in his survival has a lot to do with the slowness of it all, too. 

Cora exhales, more relived than Derek seems to be, and rubs circles into his shoulder gently. 

“Where’s Danny and the others? Is he okay?” Derek asks, remembering belatedly that Danny had been pretty badly injured. They don’t smell sad enough to have lost him, but he can barely feel the bond with Danny and that seems weird. 

“Hospital,” Lydia answers. “But he’s okay. He should be released tomorrow. Isaac, Ethan and Chris are with him.”

“We just got back from visiting, too,” Liam adds. “Do people want their food or not?”

“More important things on hand,” Lydia says, seemingly annoyed. Liam shrugs a little. 

“Where’s Stiles?” Derek asks, and for a second everyone freezes, like they think he’s not aware of the fact that Stiles is dead. “His body,” He says through gritted teeth.

Scott exhales, smelling angry. “We — I don’t know. It was gone.”

“Peter,” Derek says immediately. 

Scott nods a little. “We think so. No proof, though.”

“Though he disappeared and we haven’t seen him,” Derek says, growling a little. “And he showed up at the store halfway through the fight.”

“What?” Cora asks, twisting to look him in the eye. “You saw him?”

He shakes his head. “Smelled him, though.”

“Huh, didn’t notice.” Scott says, looking frustrated. 

“Kate?” Derek asks, holding his breath. 

“Disappeared too.” Malia says. “What happened to not caring about a body?”

Derek ignores her. So what if it’s not ‘just a fucking body’ when it comes to his mate. Sue him, then. 

“You’re pissing me off,” Lydia says to Malia simply, digging through the bags of food until she finds what she wants. Liam hands a drink over from the tray silently.

Malia seems unbothered by the confession. 

“Everyone needs to calm down,” Scott says, growling a little, but it’s more human than wolf. “We — things are all wrong. Can we try to get along?”

“Can Malia act like she cares that our world is upside down?” Lydia shoots back.

Malia flashes her eyes at her and then Jackson flashes his back, and then Scott’s flashing his at everyone. 

“Everyone needs to eat,” Melissa says, raising her hands. “You’re all hungry and tired and sad. Stop being brats.”

No one argues with her, which Derek appreciates. He has a headache and his body still aches everywhere. He pushes himself to a sitting position, wincing as he does. His neck isn’t an open wound anymore, but it’s still sensitive. His chest is healing much slower, though, blood still obviously flowing from the wounds. Someone, Melissa he assumes, has stitched them shut and put bandages over it. 

“I got you a burger,” Malia says, dropping a bag by Derek’s hips. “I figured you’d wake up eventually.”

Derek nods in response. He’s not really hungry but he knows he’ll heal faster if he has some protein to fuel his body, so he tries to force himself anyway. 

It’s quiet while they eat, everyone smelling exhausted and sad. 

Derek gives up on eating halfway through the burger, too exhausted and sore to really give it the attention and focus it needs, which is saying a lot considering it’s a cheaply made cheeseburger. He lowers himself back down into a more horizontal position, though his aching and weak body makes it nearly impossible to get actually comfortable. Malia turns on the TV, some sort of dramatic Hallmark movie playing quietly, and Lydia and Jackson’s conversation picks back up, low and gentle. He falls asleep with Cora’s hands running through his hair and tries not to think about all the times his mom did that before the fire.

He dreams of the fire, of coming back to house that was still in flames. He hears their screams, like he’s imagined so many times before, he sees the vacant look in Cora’s eyes as she ran forward toward the Camaro. The pain in his own chest from his wounds makes him think of what Laura must have died feeling, and in his dream he’s standing just out of reach and sees Peter delivering the final blow, over and over and over. He keeps flinching himself half awake before the exhaustion wins over and he’s falling into a new nightmare.

 

When he finally forces himself to wake up after a particularly chilling nightmare, the room is completely dark and everyone’s sleeping around him, too. He feels an odd pull to run, and it stresses him out. He wants to go, follow the wolf that had felt like it had died along with his alpha status, follow the instinct to run and burn energy and bring focus to the way his wolf wants to live — but he can’t. He knows he can’t. He has to stay, as much stress as it brings him. He can’t just leave, not after the fight in the warehouse, not after Stiles died, not after leaving the pack in such a painful way and just barely getting back. Not with his injuries, either. He’s still weak and healing slowly. His plan worked in that it gave the needed distraction for the rest of the pack to take down Deucalion and Bree, but that didn’t mean Bree didn’t get her hands deep into his skin while that happened. He wants to run, but he can’t. 

He can’t do that to his pack. He can’t do that to Cora, more importantly. 

He can’t keep laying in bed, either, though, so he lifts himself carefully, quietly, from the bed, wincing as it creaks. The door that connects the other room is open but he can’t see who’s sleeping inside without getting closer. Isaac and Cora are curled into each other next to him, a thin extra blanket the only thing over them, considering he was laying on top of the actual hotel bedspread. He feels a little guilty, but they look comfortable enough. Lydia and Jackson are sleeping in the bed next to theirs, Scott squished uncomfortably on the small couch under the window to his left. 

Scott opens his eyes immediately after Derek steps away from the bed, and then he’s sliding off the couch and nodding toward the door. Derek nods a little too, leading the way across the dark room quietly. 

Derek fumbles with the extra lock on the door for longer than is probably normal for a guy who supposedly has super-human powers, but he gets it open without making too much noise, so he counts it as a win. He almost died less than twelve hours ago, so it feels like asking too much to hope for perfection immediately, even if it is just a hotel door he’s battling. 

The hallways seem unnaturally bright compared to their room, and both Scott and Derek wince at the light. It smells stale in the hallway, and Derek wrinkles his nose.

“Stiles hated the smell of hotels,” Scott says, dropping down unceremoniously onto the floor outside the room. “He said it smelled like loneliness trying too hard.”

Derek huffs a laugh as he gets down to the ground to join Scott. “Interesting way of putting stale sweat and dirty laundry.”

Scott grins. “Yeah. He had a way.”

It’s quiet between them for a minute and then Scott rubs a hand through his hair and curses under his breath. “This fucking sucks, dude.” He says, laughing humorlessly.

Derek nods, unsure what he’s supposed to say to Scott to fix it.

“I know you don’t — you obviously don’t want to make a big deal out of it, and I get it. Stiles is — he was the same way about stuff like this, so it just makes sense that — anyway. You put yourself at the mercy of Bree and Deucalion to save Jackson and you did it without being asked. It means a lot to us. To me.”

Derek picks a spot on the hideously printed carpet to look at and nods. “Pack protects pack.”

“Yeah, but…yeah.” Scott says, obviously frustrated about something. “You know we don’t blame you, right?”

Derek doesn’t want to have this conversation and he doesn’t want to be in this hotel. This type of conversation is exactly why he never told his sisters about the cause of the fire in the first place. He doesn’t want to have the “its not your fault, we love you” conversation with anyone, especially the best friend and alpha of the boy he got killed. He says as much. “I don’t think this conversation is a good idea, Scott.”

“Yeah, I know you don’t.” Scott says, unbothered. “That’s obvious in the way Cora had no idea about Kate.”

Derek doesn’t answer. 

“And you’re wrong in the same way, too.” Scott continues. “Stiles was going to die this week whether you and Cora showed up here. He was going to die this week whether it was you or someone else that went to the Nemeton with him, and he was going to die this week whether or not you were mates.” 

Derek still doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even particularly care to think about the options for himself and really decide if he truly blames himself or not. The only thing that really matters is that Stiles is dead and Derek got what was coming to him — he killed his entire family for a stupid fling with a girl who had always treated him poorly, and then he lost his mate just days after meeting him. He got what was coming to him at the expense of so many other people, and those people were now stuck bonded to him, and that’s what really sucks. For them.

“Stiles would — he would hate if he knew you were living like this.”

“Stiles lived like this,” Derek shoots back. “About Donovan. About Allison and those nurses and the deputies from the station he grew up at. He felt guilty about Aiden, too, and Aiden was the enemy. Stiles lived like this, Scott.” Scott flinches a little when Derek mentions Donovan, like it still hurts, or maybe that he hoped Derek wouldn’t have known about it at all. 

Scott clenches his teeth, but he doesn’t argue — because Derek’s right. They both know it.

“I think — if Cora and Isaac continue to do well, I think I may go.” Derek says. He remembers telling Cora he would die if Stiles died, and he’s not really thinking of that anymore, so he guesses that’s some sort of growth, but also, he doesn’t have any motivation for living other than Cora, so it doesn’t feel that much like growth. He would rather run and live as a wolf than burden another pack. 

“What?” Scott asks, though it seems more like he’s trying to get Derek to think it over more than really asking for clarification. 

“The night before I came to talk to you — just a few days ago, my wolf brought me to Stiles at the diner. He said if the only thing holding me back from joining was my fear of bringing the pack down, that that was bullshit. Cora and I decided to join a few hours later. I don’t — the pack is great, Scott. You guys worked hard to build this, you worked hard to build this. But it’s a constant reminder of what I’ve lost. Both in the fire and with Stiles.”

“So you’ll leave.” Scott says, seeming annoyed. 

“You’d rather that than me make you miserable forever,” Derek says. “Trust me.”

“Cora obviously would disagree,” Scott cuts back. “She sat there crying beside you all night because you weren’t pack and she was terrified that you wouldn’t be able to fight the injuries enough as an Omega. Terrified that she’d lose you.”

Derek nods a little. “Cora is resilient.”

“But you’re not,” Scott says, harsh.

He shakes his head. He won’t take the bait. 

“Stiles fought like hell to survive,” Scott says. “You’re doing him an injustice.”

“Please don’t bring him into this.”

“He is this, man,” Scott cuts back. “You can ignore that all you want, but that won’t keep me from saying it. This pack is — was — Stiles’ just as much as it was mine. He forced me to make Jackson my second to adhere to normal pack standards, but we all knew that wasn’t really how things flowed. I’ve made more shitty plans than I can count and Stiles was the one that always saved the day. He held our shit together like it was easy, even through the worst days of his life. And you’re just willing to throw it all away because you’re sad? Fuck you.”

“I’m not sad,” Derek says, gritting his teeth. “I’m angry. And anger doesn’t do well in a pack. Look at Peter.”

“You’re not Peter.” Scott says, shaking his head. “You’re not Peter. The least you could do for us is at least try to behave like Stiles would and stick around and help save our asses.”

Derek doesn’t want to make promises. He’s not that type of guy and he never has been. He shrugs.

“If you’re not going to stick around, don’t be here and let people get attached,” Scott says, and then he deflates. “I don’t mean that.”

Derek huffs. “No one gets attached to the grumpy old guy.”

“Have you seen Up? Everyone gets attached to the grumpy old guy.” Scott says, completely serious. 

Derek rolls his eyes. “I don’t know how to go on.”

Scott nods. “You and me both, man.”

The two of them sit quietly in the hallway for a long time. There’s no way to keep track of time, the obnoxiously bright lights in the windowless hallway give no hint to what time of night it is, and Derek hadn’t even thought to check the alarm clocks on the bedside table when he snuck out of bed in the first place, so his own concept of how time passes isn’t even reliable.

Someone down the hall leaves their room, well dressed and dragging a small suitcase, probably heading to the airport to catch a flight or something. He does a double take at Scott and Derek before shaking his head slightly and hurrying toward the elevator, and Scott laughs out loud once the elevator doors shut.

Derek raises an eyebrow at him. “Look at yourself, dude,” Scott says, still laughing a little. 

Derek looks down — he’s shirtless, still bandaged. A quick hand run through his hair tells him it’s sticky and gross. Scott’s showered and dressed, but it’s just sweats and a t-shirt. Derek huffs. “Guess we better go back in before they send someone up to arrest the dirty guy that’s lingering in the hallway.” 

Scott huffs. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Neither of them, move, though, and the silence between them feels comfortable. 

Derek’s not sure how long passes before Isaac opens the door, even slower and quieter than Derek had, and peeks at them before slipping out and letting the door shut quietly behind him. He drops down beside Derek and says nothing.

It’s not awkward, though Derek keeps thinking it should be. 

“Cora says you always come back.” Isaac says after several minutes. “Keep that up.”

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to be the one that always comes back. He wants to go, he wants to go forever. It’s exhausting to have to be the one that always comes back, though it’s comforting to hear that Cora sees him as that. He doesn’t deserve it, that’s for sure. For all the days he disappeared, for all the times he was dark for days.

Though, he did come back. He forced himself too.

It’s just a matter of motivation, really, and does he have that motivation now? 

He’s not sure.

 

Leaving the hotel is a blurry mess in Derek’s memory. They check out in the morning to avoid having to pay a late checkout fee. The receptionist eyes Derek the whole time Melissa checks them out, like he’s some sort of horrible eyesore she wants out of the lobby in order to keep their reputation up. When he gets into Chris’ SUV outside and sees himself in the pull down mirror, he doesn’t blame her.

He’d rather be riding a motorcycle, but it was decided by Melissa that he wasn’t quite healthy enough to be riding a motorcycle, and Chris and Scott were obviously not going to argue, so Isaac is on it instead. He tries to avoid feeling bitter toward Isaac. 

They drive to a little diner a few blocks from the hospital and pile into two large booths inside. Derek’s still not hungry, but orders a burger anyway when Melissa stares him down as the waitress makes her way toward him. She’s clearly in charge here, despite what Scott’s eyes may say. 

Danny gets released just as they’re all finishing their food. Derek pays and leaves a generous tip while the rest of the pack loads back into the cars and onto the bikes, eager to pick up Danny and be whole — as whole as a pack with a recently dead member can be. 

Derek ends up back in the front seat of Chris’ SUV, and this time the back seat is left empty aside from Cora in order to leave a comfortable space for Danny to ride back. Over lunch Chris had updated Derek on Danny’s injuries. They’d been able to play it off as a dirt bike accident, though Chris suspects the nurses didn’t believe them. He has broken ribs, several large lacerations and had minor internal bleeding that took a minor surgery to repair. It’s really a miracle that they’re releasing him today, though Derek suspects it has to do with the phone call Melissa had made in the early hours, her voice too quiet to make out the words through the hotel walls, but loud enough to hear that she was not fucking around.

Cora gets out of the car once they’re outside the hospital to talk to Isaac on the bike while they wait for Melissa and Scott to get Danny inside. It’s quiet in the car for only a few seconds before Chris clears his throat. “Ethan’s coming back with us. That going to be a problem?” The way he says it makes Derek think that Chris maybe has a problem with it that he’s not willing to admit.

“He should be dead with the rest of them,” Derek says, eyes on the car across from the in the parking lot.

Chris nods. “You weren’t the only one hoping that Scott would keep his word.”

“Scott trusts him?” Derek asks after a few seconds. 

Chris shakes his head. “Scott trusts Danny and Danny loves Ethan.”

“So we let the devil in disguise in?” Derek says, scoffing. 

“Maybe.” Chris says, sounding frustrated.

“Guess that’s what I was, in a way.” Derek realizes out loud. 

“The difference here is that you never had a choice.” Chris says, starting the car again. Derek checks the side mirror — Ethan is wheeling Danny out in a wheelchair, flanked by Scott and Melissa. Scott, at least, is looking at Ethan carefully. 

Derek gets out to offer his help to load Danny, but Melissa points him right back to his seat. “You’re resting. Werewolf or not, those don’t look good.” She says, pointing at his chest. 

She’s not wrong, necessarily. The wounds are still causing pain when he moves quickly or twists his body at all. His skin feels tight and too-fresh and his bonds with the pack are still slowly coming back to full strength as his wolf tries to heal. 

Derek watches Ethan in the rearview mirror for the whole drive, unwilling to look froward and risk something happening. Ethan had all the time in the world last night in the hospital alone with Danny to do something, of course, he logically knows that his pack is safe, but there’s a voice in the back of his head that calls for him to not trust Ethan. He’s not in the business of ignoring that.

Danny falls asleep not long after they get on the highway back toward Beacon Hills. His heartbeat falls slowly into a slower rhythm, all of them quiet. As soon as it’s fallen into something of a pattern and Derek’s sure he’s asleep, he speaks.

“I’ll kill you in half a second if I even have a feeling that you’re not who you say you are.”

Ethan nods. “I know,” He says, voice quiet. 

Cora and Chris don’t look surprised by Derek’s threat.

No one speaks until they get back to the Stilinski household. Draco is standing in the front window, tail wagging hopefully.

“Fuck,” Chris says. “The dog.” 

Derek doesn’t get out of the car until someone else goes inside first. For some reason it feels like it can’t be his responsibility to tell Draco that Stiles isn’t coming back, even if he won’t understand. 

While he sits in the SUV and watches as the rest of the pack goes inside and gets Danny comfortable, he thinks about how after the fire, Laura kept telling them that they couldn’t give up. She would press over and over to them that they had to keep living, life had to go on, they had to prove to everyone against them that they weren’t knocked down. 

It had pissed Derek off at the time. He hadn’t thought that he was good enough to give up — he’d killed his entire family over a girl and it would be a disservice to their lives if he stopped living just because of guilt. They never got the choice. He had to live with what he’d done. He and Cora never argued with Laura, but she never stopped saying it.

He thinks now it was really a mantra for herself more than anything.

Now, more than ever before, Derek wonders how life goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two. More. Chapters. :o  
> <33
> 
> Chapter title and poem are from Richard Siken's The Torn Up Road. All his poetry, especially those in his book Crush, remind me so much of Derek/Stiles and I recommend it forever <3


	14. i stayed as long as i could, he said. now look at the moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He was pointing at the moon but I was looking at his  
>  hand. He was dead anyway, a ghost. I’m surprised I  
>  saw his hand at all. All this was prepared for me. All  
>  this was set in motion long ago. I live in someone else’s  
>  future. I stayed as long as I could, he said. Now look at  
>  the moon.

But life does goes on. 

It has too, really. Stiles being dead doesn’t make life stop, not for Derek, not for Scott, not for any of them. Even if it feels like it can’t go on, it has too. They can’t give up. Derek can’t give up now. He has to keep moving, keep going, just as he had to after his family died. It’s all the same, in the big scheme of things. Life has to go on. 

Derek is still a professor. Scott is still trying to become a Vet. Lydia, Liam and Malia and Cora all still have school to finish. Jackson is still a cop that has night shifts and day shifts and court to attend. Danny lounges around the house for a few days before he too starts disappearing into his office to work again. Ethan gets a job at a nearby mechanic shop, and as much as Derek distrusts him, he sticks around and does his share. No one talks about how he’s an omega living among the pack and even though Derek heard Ethan and Danny talking quietly about him joining the pack, it hasn’t been brought up to Scott. 

They all stumble through running Dark Moon together, and they all lie about Stiles’ whereabouts. How do you tell people he’s dead and not have a body? For all of his pessimism, Stiles is well-loved by the community around him and a funeral would have been highly attended. So they bite their tongues and lie through their teeth and hope for an answer. It won’t hold up forever, but they still try. 

Between teaching his classes and grading papers, Derek goes on long drives. He tries to follow his instincts, tries to search out the body of the boy he so deeply wanted to love forever. He tries to find Peter. The entire pack tries to call Peter. Daily, incessantly. After the first week, the calls goes straight to voicemail, and after another three days, the number is disconnected.

Derek goes dark. He goes dark more often than he’s not. He forces himself to continue going to work, he forces himself to interact with the pack for an hour a day, and then he goes dark. Sometimes that means laying in bed for hours. More often, that means shifting into his wolf form and sleeping in the preserve. He knows the rest of the pack knows it’s happening, but no one brings it up. He suspects they’ll allow it as long as he continues his ‘human’ duties. Anyway, they’re all coping in weird ways. Jackson eats a lot of junk food and Lydia doesn’t say a word. Scott checks the property line several times in the night and Kira never mentions how much sleep she loses from him getting in and out of bed. 

Kate stole everything. Deucalion stole everything. Derek ruined everything. They all keep living, but it’s all still broken. 

It’s tiring. It’s boring. 

They all avoid Stiles’ room and office like they might fall dead at even the though of going inside. Melissa and Chris and Parrish all go back to Beacon Hills after a few days, and Derek is actually glad for the break. Humans feel the pain of loss differently and it’s easier to not have people trying to talk sense into werewolves that are mostly going off instinct. 

Derek and Cora moved permanently into the firehouse the day they returned from Beacon Hills and Cora’s only in her own room for three nights before the facade is dropped and she moves into Isaac’s room with him. Derek finds it difficult not to be bitter, which is extremely childish, but he tries his best to appear supportive. Isaac really is a nice guy, though Derek got a look at his scarf collection and despite the pain of the memory of the conversation with Stiles in the back of his head, he still rolls his eyes at the size of it.

Draco is the worst part of it, almost. He knew Stiles was gone the second they returned to the Stilinski house in Beacon Hills without him, it seemed. No one had to say anything. They all filed in and his tail kept wagging until finally Derek came in and shut the front door behind him. Draco had laid down in front of the door and hadn’t moved for hours. It just got worse from there. He refused food for several days, until Derek got down on the floor and gave him one piece of kibble at a time until the bowl was empty. It only took a few meal times like that for it to evolve into Derek just having to get down on the floor before Draco would eat his food slowly from the bowl. Even apart from morning and evening meal times, he wouldn’t leave Derek’s side, which made it worse. Like Draco knew that Derek was the one responsible for Stiles’ disappearance, like Draco was taking it upon himself to personally haunt Derek on behalf of his dead owner, or keep an eye on him or something.

Except really what Draco did was lay on Derek’s chest at night when things got really bad and press his cold, wet nose into his neck when he was spacing out for too long. When he would return from sleeping in the preserve as a wolf, Draco would be waiting at the back door, tail wagging slightly. He’d bump into Derek’s legs as he walked and press his face into Derek’s neck once he’d showered. Like what he really had decided in Stiles’ absence was that Derek needed taking care of instead. It made Derek want to leave for good. 

But he always comes back. He has too, as much as he doesn’t want to. He feels like everyone’s treating him with kid-gloves, though, which is irritating on so many different levels. They all lost Stiles too, and they lost a Stiles that Derek never got to know. Years of friendship, years of protection, gone in seconds. Derek shouldn’t get to have the bulk of the grieving, but he has it anyway. It’s irritating and it’s guilt inducing and it’s tiring. 

Everything is tiring. 

Tiring, but impossible to rest from. 

He’s restless for several nights at first. The heavy sadness of the week’s events weighing him. And then he goes a little numb, which is normal, he thinks, but he still can’t sleep well. After the first week, he starts having weird dreams. Stiles is alive, but not really, fighting to come back, fighting to reach Derek. He wants to tell him something, or maybe he’s trying to save Derek, it’s never clear, but Stiles is alive in his dreams and he always wakes up gasping for air and counting his fingers. 

He wakes up in the middle of the night, two weeks after Stiles’ death. It’s the night of the full moon, but the entire pack had wandered off to their own bedrooms before eight o clock had even rolled around. They had all been touchy, grouchy, sensitive, even Lydia and Danny, as if being around the pack for so long had made them sensitive to the pull of the moon suddenly too. It’s not unusual for werewolves to spend the night in, though usually it has a lot more time together and a lot less locking themselves in to their rooms alone, but still — the fact that he’s alone on the full moon is not enough to explain the restlessness he feels at this moment. It’s different, too, than the events of many nights before this one — he’s not gasping for air and searching the room for an intruder or for Stiles, there’s no reason to count his fingers. He’s just awake. 

There’s something inside of him that says LOOK! LOOK! and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be looking for, but he’s stumbling out of bed and pulling on a pair of shorts, then socks and running shoes and leaving his room, not even bothering to turn on any lights as he goes. The alarm clock on his bedside table tells him it’s only one in the morning. 

Malia is asleep in the main room, the TV on loud, and she doesn’t wake as Derek passes her and leaves the firehouse. As soon as the front door is shut behind him and the fresh air of the night is on his skin, he shifts. It’s dark other than the light of the moon, but even that is faded, a thick fog heavy in the sky. 

LOOK! LOOK! GO! The voice — his wolf? — is shouting, though, so he goes. He runs. He closes his eyes and he runs. 

His legs are aching, his lungs are burning, but he doesn’t stop. He left Beacon Valley miles ago, but the voice is still saying LOOK! so he’s still running. 

He’s in the woods and the voice just seems to be getting louder. His lungs burn more than they ever have before, and he has no idea how long he’s been running but it’s going to be a bitch to get back to the firehouse because he has no idea where he is and no phone to call for a ride.

It hits him as suddenly as the voice had. The scent of caramel and magic and pack. 

He stops dead, his heart beat erratic. Not from the running, but from the scent.

There’s two heartbeats other than his own, not far in the forrest. Neither of them are human. He can’t make himself move forward. He can’t make himself process what that means.

He hears voices, quiet and soft. He can’t hear them fully over the buzz of his own heart, but he knows who’s there and he still can’t make his feet move.

It’s a joke, it’s at trick of his brain, it’s not real.

But still.

Stiles steps out of the trees to his left, eyes burning bright blue against his pale skin.

Peter follows behind closely, face completely human.

 

Stiles grins at Derek, white fangs flashing in the moonlight. 

Derek stumbles forward and grabs Stiles’ shoulders, trying to prove to himself that this is real, this is not a dream. This is real. This is real. Stiles is here? Stiles is here.

He grabs Stiles’ hand, pulling it up clumsily to be in front of his face. Five fingers here. He counts twice to be sure. Stiles lifts his other hand without being pulled and whispers the numbers right along with Derek. “One…two…three…four…five. One, two, three, four, five.” He wiggles all of them and says, quickly, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.” He laughs a little. “Derek, it’s me.” His voice is quiet, like it’s some sort of secret. 

Peter is quiet behind Stiles, still just watching carefully. Derek wants to growl at him or yell at him or something, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the brilliant blue of Stiles’ eyes. 

Werewolf. No longer human. Werewolf.

Peter did this. He’s Peter’s beta. It’s why he can’t feel the bond, he thinks. But he feels Stiles, alive and breathing, somewhere deeper in him. Instinct. LOOK! LOOK! GO! HE’S HERE!

LOOK! LOOK! Stiles.

“How?” Derek breathes, finally. He drops Stiles’ hands and moves into grab his face instead. There’s no lingering wound on his neck anymore. There’s no dark circles or light scarring on his face. He finds himself lifting Stiles’ arm. The scar from Deucalion is still there.

“Yeah, sucks right?” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “Get all the healing perks of a werewolf and that shit still sticks around.” 

“How?” Derek breathes again.

“Motherfucker never stays dead,” Stiles says, nodding back toward Peter. “Comes in handy when you know you’re going to get killed.”

Peter saved him. For the last two and a half weeks, Derek was trying to track down Peter to get revenge — for Laura, for taking Stiles’ body, for abandoning them when they could have needed him — but he never found him. He never found him because he was hiding out, bringing Stiles back to life. 

“You — you knew.” Derek realizes. He tries to play back the days before Kate took Stiles, but it’s all a blur. “When you visited him?” Derek asks, twisting his head. Stiles had seemed shocked when Lydia predicted his death. But was it shock or was it acceptance?

Stiles shrugs a little. “No one can say I’m not prepared, at least.”

“But you’re —” he looks back at Peter and flashes his eyes involuntarily.

Peter flashes his back, red. “I’ll give him up,” He says easily, like the flash back was also involuntary, his eyes fading back to his human green as quick as they did red. “We made a deal.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, being connected to this creep is getting tiring.”

Peter rolls his eyes and flicks Stiles’ head, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“You — you’re here? Alive.”

“I’m here,” Stiles says, laughing a little. “You guys didn’t replace me, right? That would be awkward as hell.”

Derek chokes out some sort of strangled laugh. “No.”

“Did you clear out my office?”

“We didn’t even look at it.” Derek says seriously. “We didn’t — we didn’t tell anyone.”

“Ah, shit, I thought I could have fun haunting people for a little.” 

Derek’s hands are still on Stiles’ face, so pulling him in for a kiss is easy.

It’s messy and awkward, Peter’s still just standing there watching them, and Stiles doesn’t have enough of a handle on his control to pull his fangs away, but Derek doesn’t care.

Derek. Does. Not. Care.   
LOOK! SEE! I’VE FOUND HIM!

Stiles is laughing when Derek pulls away, and he pushes Derek away playfully. “You stink, dude.”

“I ran,” Derek says, moving back in. Stiles is grabbing his arm anyway, pulling him in again. 

“No shit,” Stiles says, rubbing his head into Derek’s neck, and Derek lifts his head to make room. He could roll in the scent of Stiles right now — he always could, but now, when it’s been fading from the house and the knowledge of it being gone completely away at any moment has been on his mind, he wants to — no, needs to — bask in it. 

He rubs back into Stiles, pulling the thin t-shirt up so he can put his hands on Stiles’ back. 

“Can we not?” Peter says, sounding bored. “I’d like to not see my nephew and the weasel wolf get it on in the woods.”

Derek growls, eyes flashing, but there’s no real heat behind it. He can hate Peter for a lot of things, but he brought Stiles back and that’s all he can focus on right now. Stiles is back. Stiles is back.

“Call me weasel wolf one more time,” Stiles says, kicking blindly at Peter. “Where’s the damn car, Peter?”

“Just a few hundred yards to the south,” Peter says. “I’m not going with you.”

Derek raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve seen enough reunions to know that I’m not interested in the rest of it,” He says, waving a hand. “I’ll be back in Vancouver, where you’ve banished me.”

“You like it there,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. 

“Get yourself attached to Scott before I get back there,” Peter says, already wandering the opposite direction. “I don’t want Alpha Ford to go ape-shit on me for turning someone.”

Stiles nods, like that’s obvious, and then he grabs Derek’s hand and starts pulling him to the south — toward a car, apparently. Thankfully. 

Stiles pulls keys from his pocket and tosses them to Derek when they get to it. “Hope you can drive stick, man, because I am so not used to this — you can fucking smell everything? This is unreal.”

Derek laughs a little and nods, unlocking the car. “You’ll get used to it.”

“The fangs won’t go away, man. I keep biting my own lip. And then it heals. And I bite it again.”

Derek laughs again as they both get into the car.

“And the claws, man, they’re fucking sharp. Why did Scott make it look so easy to do shit with claws?”

“You’ll get used to them,” Derek says again, unable to wipe the stupidly huge smile off his face.

“I can still use magic,” Stiles says as Derek starts the car. “Peter said I probably wouldn’t be able to, so jokes on you, mother fucker!” He shouts the last bit out the window, even though it’s closed. “Could he hear me?”

Derek just laughs and shakes his head.

“Does Scott know you were out running? Are they going to be on a search party for their lost wolf?”

Derek shrugs as he pulls onto an unmarked forest road. “Do you know where we are?”

“Oregon,” Stiles answers easily. “Umpqua. You ran so many fuckin miles, dude. It’s unreal. How did you — how are you here?”

“Woke up and felt a pull. Followed it.” Derek says simply. It really is as simple as that. 

“For like, fifty fucking miles, man, that’s unreal.”

“My legs are jello,” Derek agrees. “But my wolf knew.”

“I’ve been alive for like, six hours, man. I tried to attack Peter for like, forty minutes after waking up, and then I ran around in the woods and fought the shift for a few hours, and then Peter actually stepped up and helped me control it for a while, and then you showed up. Six hours, man, I was alone with your Uncle. I deserve a prize.”

“I came as soon as I felt you,” Derek says. “You could’ve called.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Why didn’t we? You’re fucking smart.”

Derek laughs, breathlessly. “Yeah, I am.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, until they get to a T in the road. Stiles motions for Derek to turn left. “It’s been bad?” He asks, voice quiet.

Derek nods.

“But everyone’s okay? Kate didn’t — Deucalion?”

“Everyone’s okay.” Derek says, nodding. “Alive, at least.”

“And Kate?”

“Somewhere still out there.” Derek says, a growl escaping with it. “Alpha Pack is gone, though.”

Stiles grins at that. “And no one is hurt?”

“Danny spent a night in the hospital. He was shot. Chris was shot, too, but Melissa fixed him up fine. Danny is fine. Just human. Everyone else healed up just fine.”

“Okay, and like…emotionally?” He seems like he’s holding his breath. 

Derek’s not sure what to say.

“No one…got bad, right?”

“You were gone, Stiles. We all ‘got bad’.”

Stiles huffs. 

“What did you expect?” Derek asks, a little confused. “That we’d just shrug it off?”

“I mean, obviously I knew that wouldn’t happen, I just — I hoped for better.”

“Better,” Derek says, laughing humorlessly. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Stiles exhales, smelling slightly irritated. “I tried to set everyone better, is what I mean. I don’t want — it shouldn’t rely on me. It shouldn’t rely on any one of us.”

“We’re all still here,” Derek says. “But to think we wouldn’t mourn you is stupid.”

Stiles pulls the mirror down and looks at his fangs in it. “Seriously, dude, how do I make them go away? My lip hurts.”

There’s blood on his lip but the cut has already healed, and Derek can’t help but laugh a little. “Honestly? Probably won’t be able to figure it out tonight. Not with a full moon.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “What? I’m just stuck with fangs? I got the rest of it to go away.”

“Eyes are still blue too,” Derek says, flicking his eyes between watching Stiles and watching the road.

“Speaking of — when you realized I was part of Peter’s pack…”

“Yeah.” Derek says, swallowing, cutting him off a little. 

“They’re blue.” Stiles says. “Not red.”

“Or do you man not gold?”

Stiles shrugs. “Well, can’t say I’m not curious, man. But it’s none of my business. I meant about the alpha thing, honestly.”

“Paige and I were fifteen.” Derek says, swallowing back the guilt. His mate is here, back from the motherfucking dead, and he wants to be honest. “I tried to give her the bite to save her and it killed her instead.”

“Save her from…”

“Hunters.” He’d been thinking about it a lot, lately, and thinks it was probably Kate. “She was hit by an arrow.”

“You said your parents didn’t get involved in a lot.”

“They didn’t. The hunters never bothered us after Paige’s death went public.”

Stiles hums. “So we match.” He taps his face, just below his eye. Bright and beautiful, nothing like the ugliness Derek sees in his own blue eyes. 

Derek nods a little.

“Except yours was to save someone and mine —”

“Comparing doesn’t change it.” Derek says, cutting him off. “It looks the same on the outside.”

Stiles hums again. “My lip is going to be one giant callous.” He says, pouting into the mirror. There’s a drop of blood again.

Derek laughs a little. “We don’t get callous’.”

Stiles nods. “Makes sense.” He keeps poking at his lip, though, like maybe he doesn’t believe Derek.

“Uh — you guys — Draco’s fine, right?” Stiles says, his heartbeat suddenly sky rocketing.

Derek nods immediately. “Of course he’s fine.”

“Sorry, yeah, obviously.” Stiles says, relaxing into the seat a little more. “I don’t know why I would think otherwise.”

“He’s been sleeping with me.” Derek says. “On me.” He adds, sounding annoyed, even though he doesn’t mean it. 

Stiles grins. “Yeah, you big sap, you like it.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. He’s not wrong. 

“I can smell so much. No one can lie to me anymore,” Stiles says, grinning. “No one can get away with anything anymore.”

They’re not far from the firehouse now — Derek maybe was speeding for most of the drive on the back roads. He slows down now, not really wanting to share Stiles. 

“You okay?” Stiles asks, sitting up a little. “What’s that smell?”

Derek rolls his eyes again. “That’s part of it. You have to figure out the smells yourself.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “That doesn’t seem very fair.”

“That’s what the rest of us had to do!” Derek argues, laughing a little.

“Yeah, but you’re my mate. You’re supposed to like, coddle me and shit.”

Derek flicks Stiles’ leg. “Yeah, cause you would absolutely love it if I coddled you.”

Stiles flicks him back. “Yeah, maybe I would. You don’t know.”

Derek just shakes his head, laughing.

“Come on, please,” Stiles says, wiggling closer to Derek despite the seatbelt and center console keeping him away. “Tell me what that is. I feel like I should at least know what you’re feeling.”

Derek hesitates for a little and then clenches his teeth. “Jealousy.” He says, just loud enough for Stiles to hear.

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “You don’t wanna share me,” He says, grinning. He moves even closer, propping himself on an elbow on the center console. “You are a big sap.”

“I thought you were dead,” Derek says, pushing Stiles back playfully. “Give me a break.”

Stiles grins. “Good news for you, dude, apparently coming back from the dead is exhausting as shit. I wanna climb into bed and sleep for a week.”

“I teach in a few hours.” Derek says, unsure why that’s relevant when Stiles is sitting next to him, back from the mother fucking dead.

“I wanna climb into bed, sleep for a short, yet respectable amount of time, and then go make googly eyes at the hot professor teaching about sexuality in books,” Stiles amends, winking.

Derek laughs. “You don’t have to go with me. Rest is good.”

“Did you miss the part where I called you a hot professor?”

“Definitely not.”

“And you’re not going to make a teacher-student joke?”

Derek shakes his head. “Definitely not.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Doesn’t change that you’re stuck with me,” Derek says, not even bothered by Stiles’ words. “Get used to it.”

“Remember when you kissed me in the woods?”

“Like, twenty minutes ago? Yes.”

“Yeah, we should have done that for longer.”

“Peter was staring at us. It was weird.”

“Peter is always staring.” Stiles says. “At least when you make out in front of him he seems a little less willing to stick around.”

“I think he thrives on people feeling uncomfortable,” Derek says. “He kind of always has.”

Stiles laughs. 

Derek takes the exit to the firehouse and finds himself letting the car decelerate even more.

“You’re going to get pulled over for being shady,” Stiles says, but he’s laughing.

“I’ll still get more time with you out of it.” Derek says, shrugging. But he speeds up a bit again, just incase Stiles is actually bothered by it.

Stiles grins at him and then moves to sit normally in the seat again. His knee starts to bounce as they get closer to the firehouse, and the smell of anxiety is rolling off him not long after.

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” Derek says. “I’m here.” He adds, unsure if it helps. Stiles grins at him a little. 

“I guess I kind of thought I wouldn’t be so — messed up. You know? Like Scott’s asthma went away when Peter bit him, and I guess I just thought maybe my anxiety would too.”

“You’re not messed up.”

“Am too,” Stiles says. “You are too, though, so. It’s fine.”

Derek isn’t even bothered by it. He just shrugs.

The turn onto the street and can see lights on in the firehouse. Maybe they really are looking for Derek — he hadn’t left a note or taken his phone. He’d just gotten up and left. It’s been hours, the sun is already up and other cars are on the road, the morning commuters starting their day.

“Who’s car is this, anyway?” Derek asks, looking around.

“To be honest, I think Peter stole it.” Stiles says, pulling the glovebox open. It’s empty, though, so he shrugs and shuts it. “It seemed unimportant until now.”

Derek huffs. “So I should park this in the back, then?”

Stiles nods. “Oh, for sure. This could get us all arrested and how awkward would that be?”

Derek rolls his eyes as he pulls around the firehouse carefully, sticking close to the building so he doesn’t tear up the grass too much — Isaac works hard on the landscaping outside, much to Cora’s amusement. 

“Do you think they feel it like you did?” Stiles asks, knee bouncing quicker now that Derek’s putting the car in park.

Derek can hear the chaos inside. Stiles will be able to eventually, but now, his control is weak and senses untrained. “They may not have felt it, but they know now.” Derek says, nodding his head toward the back door of the firehouse.

Scott’s the first out the door, but Kira and Lydia are shoving their way out right behind him, tears in both their eyes. Jackson and Isaac shoulder each other through the door behind Lydia. Cora comes, Draco bounding alongside her. Liam and Malia are next, Malia only in a bra and underwear. Danny comes out next, wearing only boxer briefs, and Ethan stops in the doorway, in boxers too. 

Stiles is fumbling with his seatbelt the second he spots Scott, and then Derek rushes to hit the locks on the car so Stiles can open his door.

They all crash into him at once, it seems, Draco bounding around the entire group, shrill barks escaping excitedly. Derek finally gets himself out of the car too, moving around it to stand by the circle of shouting. The girls are all crying, and Derek thinks Scott is too. 

Cora extracts herself away and grabs Derek, pulling him in to the pile just as quick as she had pulled away. 

Stiles is laughing, tears in his eyes, too. 

Scott shoves Derek back, laughing a little. “You mother fucker, did you know?” There’s no heat behind it, but Scott’s eyes look ready for betrayal.

Derek shakes his head, over and over. “Of course not, no, of course not.”

“I didn’t even know,” Stiles says, dropping down into the grass, despite it being wet and muddy. “I just had — a feeling, I don’t know.”

“How did you do this?” Isaac asks, shoving at Stiles until Stiles bares fangs at him. 

“Yeah — who’s…who’s are you?”

“Yours,” Stiles answers quickly. “I vow allegiance to Scott McCall!”

“I accept you into my pack,” Scott says, his smile dopey and huge. 

Stiles sits back a little as the bonds hit him at full force and fist bumps Scott, his smile matching.

“Who’s were you, then?” Danny asks.

“Peter,” Stiles answers easily. “We made a deal.”

Scott raises his eyebrows. “Yeah, how much do we owe him for bringing him back?”

Stiles grins. “What, you afraid you won’t like the price?”

“I don’t give a fuck what it was,” Scott answers immediately. “Worth it.”

“Can we go inside?” Malia asks, shivering a little. It is cold, even the heat from the car has left Derek. He’s tired from running — miles and miles and miles — but the size of what’s standing in front of him, his mate back from the dead, is enough to keep him warm forever, he thinks. 

They funnel inside, Stiles hefting Draco up into his arms happily. 

Ethan has moved himself to the edge of the kitchen, out of the way of the door, but they still have to pass him to get in.

Stiles stops dead, putting Draco down and turning to face Ethan.

He stares at him, silence falling over everyone.

Derek hadn’t liked his presence in the firehouse in the last weeks, but he brought calmness to Danny, which he appreciated on behalf of his pack member and for that reason only. Now, though, he has to resist the urge to bare fangs. 

“You with us for good?” Stiles asks, breaking the silence.

Ethan looks at Scott for only half a second before his eyes move back to Stiles. “If you’ll have me.” Everyone seems to be holding their breaths and Derek is right there with them. 

Stiles nods minutely. “You pissed off Duke a lot by leaving…made things easier for me.” He shivers little at the memory though, and Derek can’t resist the urge to flash his eyes at Ethan. 

“He pissed me off a lot.” Ethan answers back. “Least I could do.”

“You hurt my boy and I’ll kill you myself,” Stiles says, turning away from Ethan with a shrug. He goes into the kitchen, pulling open the pantry and frowning at the bare shelves. “What the hell is there to eat in this place?”

“I think there’s some tangerines in the bowl,” Scott says, laughing a little. His cheeks are red with embarrassment. They may have all been continuing on, but it hadn’t exactly been…pretty. 

“No, I ate those,” Malia says, unbothered. 

“We’ve been ordering takeout.” Scott admits. 

“For every meal,” Jackson adds.

“We were depressed,” Lydia says, raising a finger. “And Stiles Stilinski has always been a big proponent for a depression meal here and there.”

Stiles chokes out a stuttered laugh and wipes the tears that fall, seemingly unwillingly. “‘Here and there’ isn’t for over two and a half weeks, Jesus.”

“Yeah, well,” Scott says, and then he wipes at his own face. “Things were shitty.”

“What even — what happened?” Stiles voice goes a little quiet, but his eyes are still bright and curious. 

“Broad question,” Isaac says, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Kate took me. Then what?” Stiles asks, frustrated. 

Derek clenches his jaw and resists the urge to leave the room. He wants to be touching Stiles again. Why is Stiles so far away? He doesn’t want to think about how he let Stiles be taken, even though Stiles is back — Stiles was dead and most people would have stayed dead. This is luck that is usually not on Derek’s side, and he’s still to blame.

Stiles twists to look at Derek. “Hey, what’s — what’s that smell?” He growls, frustrated. “There’s so many fucking smells.”

“Guilt,” Malia answers. “That’s what Derek’s guilt smells like.” Cora nods a little.

Stiles narrows his eyes. Derek busies himself with digging through the pantry — he thinks he saw a box of granola bars in here yesterday. 

Aha. He was right. He pulls the box from the back of a shelf of cans and shakes it, satisfied by the sound of the bars shifting inside. He comes out from the pantry and extends a bar to Stiles, who takes it, but still smells confused.

“You didn’t say how Peter saved you,“ Malia says, bringing the attention away from Derek. He likes her more every day.

“Blood sacrifice, weird moon stuff, nemeton shit,” Stiles says, waving a hand. He bites into the granola bar and winces. He swallows but then looks closely at the wrapper and then glares. “Expired.”

Derek plucks it from his hand and throws it out, along with the whole box. “Sorry,” He says, ducking back into the pantry.

“You wouldn’t get sick, probably,” Malia points out.

“I got food poisoning last week,” Isaac cuts back. “It sucked.”

“Did you eat one of those?” Cora asks, eyeing the box in the garbage.

Isaac pulls it out of the garbage to inspect it closer and nods, dropping it back in. “Four of them.”

“Can we focus?” Stiles says, wincing a little at the box. “What happened?”

“Broad question,” Isaac says again. Stiles glares. Isaac exhales and waves a hand. “We found Derek at the house and tried to make a plan. Ethan showed up, Derek almost killed him, and then we sent him away. We kept trying to make a plan, and then we felt you get hurt. We tracked the Alpha pack to that abandoned store and all went out there so we could continue to make a plan but closer.”

“Then you died.” Derek says.

“And Derek decided he was going to charge in without a plan,” Malia says. “So we followed him.”

“Scott was already planning to go,” Derek points out.

“Yeah, except Scott would’ve listened when Chris told him to wait a minute. You just walked out.” Malia says, shrugging. “Derek and I faced off against Kate.”

“Then we made him come and help us, because Danny was bleeding out and Scott was weak and Jackson wasn’t thinking straight.” Liam says, picking at his cuticles.

“Danny was bleeding out.” Jackson says, irritated. “And Stiles was dead.”

“Derek was full wolf again,” Lydia says. “And I predicted his death.”

Stiles goes a little pale at that, and he looks at Derek, and then Lydia. Derek shrugs. He feels awkward under Stiles’ scrutiny. 

“Kate is some sort of shapeshifter,” Malia says. “She and Derek tore at each other for awhile, while I tried to track down her backup. Then Cora called for him and he left.”

“I thought Cora was hurt.” Derek says, a little defensive.

“Danny was bleeding out,” Cora says.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Danny says, leaning into Ethan a little. 

“It was that bad,” Scott, Isaac and Jackson all say at once.

“Then?” Stiles prompts.

“Peter took your body before I attacked Kate.” Derek says. “I smelled him.”

“No one else noticed.” Malia says. “Not that it mattered. We couldn’t find Peter even with Derek’s knowledge.”

“What happened next?”

“We fought them and we killed them,” Derek says. “And then we came home.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “You’re hiding something.”

“Derek sacrificed himself to save me.” Jackson says, clearing his throat. “He died.”

“And you’re surprised that I came back?” Stiles says, picking at his lip.

“My wolf died. The alpha.” Derek corrects. “I was just unconscious from the attack.”

“Attack?” Stiles says, waving a hand like they should keep talking. 

“They ripped out half his chest,” Jackson says. “We only were able to kill them because they were distracted by Derek’s stunt.”

“Half of us focused on getting Danny to the hospital, and the rest of us went to the hotel to patch up Chris and Derek. It was touchy for a bit, because Derek was an omega, so he wasn’t healing.” Liam says. 

Stiles is still staring at him. “I was fine.” Derek says, wishing he could hide in the pantry again. 

“What happened to you?” Scott asks.

Stiles shrugs. “You know Kate. She likes her torture.”

Derek growls, loud and mostly instinct, but there’s real anger behind that too. The anger burns beneath his skin, hot and heavy, begging to be let loose. 

His control hasn’t been great, if he’s honest. Not since he sacrificed himself for Jackson, but he thinks Stiles’ disappearance and death had something to do with it, too. Maybe it’ll get better with Stiles’ return, but maybe it won’t until Kate pays for what she did. 

Stiles frowns and steps closer to Derek, reaching a hand out carefully. He curls his hand around Dereks, pushing at the claws that Derek hadn’t noticed. “I’m fine.” He insists. “It’s not like you got away without a scratch.”

“I could heal.” Derek says, irritated.

“And I did too,” Stiles says, grinning. “It just took a couple weeks.”

“You never wanted this.” Derek says, voice quiet.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Well, no shit, but I’d take it over dying, dude.”

Derek exhales, trying to force himself to relax. He doesn’t like the way everyone’s watching them, all eyes on their hands. 

“She wasn’t even that bad,” Stiles continues. “A few hits here and there. She wanted me to destroy the alpha pack, so she knew I needed to be mostly alive. I killed Sven easily, but the others were more difficult. Deucalion was able to overpower the magic and the blast back killed me. Simple as that.”

“Simple.” Scott says, huffing. “None of that was simple. How did you know it might happen?”

“I knew they were coming back,” Stiles answers, shrugging. “It was either going to be them or me. I actually was optimistic about my survival, but I still went to Peter to discuss my options. We made our deal and he agreed to come to my aide should I need it.”

“How’d he know you needed it?” Liam asks. 

“That was all in the hope that you guys would be desperate enough to call him, honestly,” Stiles says. “But he said he’d check the wards every day or so to see if they were still up to go by that incase you guys didn’t call.”

“I almost killed him,” Derek says, frustrated. “Then what?”

Stiles laughs a little, but it’s startled more than anything. “I’d be dead, I guess.”

Derek whines, low in his throat. 

“I’m fine,” Stiles says, bumping his forehead into Derek’s shoulder. “I’m right here.”

Derek huffs and moves back into the pantry. There’s gotta be something.

“There’s nothing, dude,” Liam says. “I was in there for like, fifteen minutes this morning.”

“I got hungry last night.” Malia says, unbothered.

“We could go out.”

“I can’t control shit,” Stiles says. “I assumed the fangs would go away once the sun came out.”

“The moon still pulls for a few days,” Scott says, sounding apologetic.

“A few days? I have to wait it out for days?” There seems to be a noise of him sitting down on the floor. “I was going to go watch Derek teach.”

“We can see if you can work it out.” Scott says encouragingly. 

“You have plenty of options for a good anchor.” Malia says, and Derek feels his ears go a little warm at the compliment. 

Draco comes to push into Stiles’ side, tail wagging. Stiles sits on the floor and Draco climbs into his lap, tail still wagging. “Dude, you’re skinny,” Stiles says, his voice going a little high. “Have they been starving you, too?” 

“He wouldn’t eat.” Danny says, sounding upset. 

“Derek got down on the floor with him after a few days and literally hand fed him one kibble at a time.” Isaac adds. “And hasn’t stopped.”

“He eats it on his own now,” Derek says, feeling embarrassed. “He just likes the company.”

He can smell the amusement coming off of Stiles, but there’s something more behind it, contentedness, that makes Derek not care. “We going to have to do that forever now, dude?” Stiles asks, obviously talking to the dog.

“Derek, seriously, come out of the pantry, dude,” Stiles says, knocking his knuckles on the doorway. “It’s been made clear that you guys were going to starve today.”

It goes against every instinct to leave the pantry when his mate is hungry, but there really isn’t anything — expired boxes of pasta, several cans of different types of beans — why do they have so many beans? — and a bunch of backup bottles of condiments. They really had cleared out everything else.

“I’ll go pick you up something. What do you want?” Derek says, emerging. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Stiles says. “Someone else can go out to feed us.”

Derek doesn’t argue. He didn’t actually want to leave in the first place, anyway.

“That can be us,” Cora says, looking at Isaac. “Right?”

He nods. “We can go to the diner. Text us orders in the next ten minutes.” He ruffles Stiles’ hair before heading toward the garage. Cora smiles at Stiles and bumps her fist into his shoulder and pets Draco before following after.

“I have to go to work,” Jackson says, seeming bothered. “You guys good here?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Liam asks.

“Stilinski was impossible to control as a human. Now he’s got super strength that he doesn’t know how to control.”

Stiles kicks out lazily at Jackson, hit foot connecting well with Jackson’s shin. Jackson jumps back, but not in enough time to save his shin completely. If he were human, it’d bruise nicely, probably. Jackson just rolls his eyes and moves toward the hallway to finish getting ready.

“Kate crushed my phone. Can you tell Isaac I want waffles,” Stiles says, looking up at Derek. “And also a Georgia hash. And a side of bacon. And four eggs, over medium.”

“I don’t have my phone on me,” Derek says. “I’ll go get it.”

He starts moving down the hallway, even though Scott says he can do it. 

“You literally ran to Oregon in the middle of the night and didn’t bring your phone?” Stiles calls behind him.

“I told you,” Derek calls back, reaching his room. “I just followed the feeling!”

“You ran?” Scott yells back, surprised. “Who’s car is that back there then?”

“Derek drives a Camaro, man, where did you think he got that suddenly?” Stiles asks, unimpressed.

Derek comes back down the hallway, already texting Cora with Stiles’ order. 

Scott shrugs. “I don’t know! I was distracted by the fact that you were dead and then you weren’t.”

Stiles laughs, lifting his hand for Scott to help him up off the ground. 

Derek’s just finished texting Cora Stiles’ order and started his own — waffles, a side of sausage and three eggs, scrambled — when a call from Chris comes in. 

“Hello?” He says, surprised Chris called him. 

“Tell me why Parrish is here saying he feels like Stiles is alive and none of you are answering your phones,” Chris says, voice rushed and nervous. 

Derek laughs, surprised by the emotions he feels when he’s confronted so plainly about it. “Sorry,” He says, motioning for Stiles to come toward him. “Yeah, uh — here.”

He hands the phone to Stiles, who takes it easily. “Tell Parrish he owes me $50 from that chess game last Christmas,” Stiles says, grinning. “I died and right before I took my last breath, I realized he never paid me, and it really pissed me off.”

The shouting from the other side of the phone isn’t really easily understood, other than the obvious joy behind it, which is enough. Stiles is grinning ear to ear, pulling the phone away to shield his sensitive ears from the shouting. 

“We’re coming up as soon as Jordan and Melissa’s shifts end,” Chris says. “Six hours. Okay?”

“See you, Argent.” Stiles says, laughing. He hangs up. “Hey guys — uh, I’m gonna — I need to talk to Derek for a minute. That cool?”

Scott nods, looking across at everyone still standing around the kitchen. “We all said life back to normal today,” He says, clearing his throat. “So that stays the plan.”

Everyone agrees. Derek feels nervous, unsure what Stiles could possibly need from him that couldn’t have been said on the car ride over.

He follows Stiles down the hall, Stiles smelling of nerves and anxiety. Not what he wants, really.

 

Stiles leads him into his room and opens the door, frowning at it and then waving Derek in.

It’s messy, but not gross or inhabitable. Just lived in. Stiles kicks clothes into a corner and smoothes his blanket over his bed before sitting. Derek shuts the door and crosses his arms.

“Could you relax?” Stiles says, huffing a little. 

Derek shrugs. “Once I know what you need, maybe.”

“I just — why didn’t you say any of that in the car?”

“What?” The face Stiles gives in response tells him that he should know what Stiles means, but he genuinely doesn’t. 

“That you tried to sacrifice yourself? That you hand-fed my dog. That you tried to square up with Ethan.”

“I still want to ‘square up’ with Ethan. He smells like them.”

Stiles huffs. “Fair.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, which is frustrating to Stiles, apparently. He growls a little, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you say anything? Seriously.”

Derek sighs. “I just — why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Guilt.” Derek says, crossing his arms tighter.

Stiles’ facial expression relaxes into something softer, but he still smells annoyed. “Because she took me?” 

Derek nods.

“You realize — that’s….but you fought for me? She would’ve just killed you.”

Derek shrugs.

“That’s okay with you? Just dying for me?”

“You would die for me.” Derek says. 

Stiles growls again, but he doesn’t deny it. 

“I don’t like attention.” Derek says, forcing himself to unfold his arms. “I didn’t want to tell you and have it be — a thing.”

“You hand fed my dog to keep him alive,” Stiles says, laughing a little. “That’s a ‘thing.’”

“He was constantly following me around, trying to ground me. I — I needed something to do.”

“Can you let me say thank you?” Stiles says, voice quiet. “Without trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal, without avoiding looking at me, without — without feeling guilty. Just let me say thank you.”

Derek’s not sure what to say.

“Come’re,” Stiles mumbles, reaching for him. Derek moves forward without hesitation, letting Stiles grab his waistband and pull him forward.

Stiles pulls until Derek’s stopped up against the bed between Stiles’ legs. 

“Thank you.” Stiles says, looking Derek in the eyes. “For saving Draco, and saving Jackson, and protecting my — our — friends. For staying alive and being in this pack, even without me. For being willing to stick around.”

Derek closes his eyes, unsure what he can say — you’re welcome? No way. He wasn’t even completely sold on sticking around, so that guilt is still there.

“Say something.” Stiles says after a few seconds.

Derek opens his eyes again. “Thank you for coming back.” He says.

Stiles rolls his eyes, but he pulls Derek down for a kiss, so he must deem it acceptable. 

They break apart not long after, both of them going a little red in the cheeks when they make eye contact. It’s stupid, it is, but Derek still feels sheepish and nervous. The universe has decided that they’re mates, they’ve confessed their (alarmingly fast) allegiance to each other — but a little kiss is still enough to make them both go red.

Stiles huffs and scratches the back of his neck. “My eyes still blue? I can’t tell. Everything is so sharp — did I need glasses or am I just this much better now?” He lifts his hands to his face and inspects them carefully. 

Derek laughs a little. “Maybe both. Still blue.”

Stiles scrunches his nose. “How do I make it stop?” He’s staring at his scar, one finger tracing it carefully. 

“Focus.” Derek says and Stiles narrows his eyes.

“Oh, sure, make it sound simple. Don’t bring your classist shit here.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Classist?”

Stiles nods; he pulls Derek onto the bed as he does, scooting back to rest against the headboard. Derek follows. “Yeah, bitten versus born. You’re not better than me because you were born with control.”

Derek huffs. “Not how it works, but nice try.”

“When did you learn?” Stiles asks, moving in closer to Derek’s side until they’re pressed up against one another. 

“Mom worked with us from the very beginning. Toddlers can sometimes flash their eyes or pop fangs, but it never lasts long. Puberty is when control becomes really important.”

Stiles grins. “An amusing picture, honestly.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Yeah, it was so fun.” He says sarcastically. “You have to pick an anchor.”

“Deaton always said something like that to Scott, and when we finally got Peter to be sort of helpful, he said the same thing — specifically anchor. Scott hated it from Deaton, because he felt like he was trying to make him choose some big, life changing thing right then and there. When Peter put it in terms of an anchor, he had already kind of got a handle on it, but it probably helped.”

“Anchors can change,” Derek says.

“Yours has.” Stiles says, not as a question.

“Yes,” Derek answers anyway. 

“What did it used to be?”

“As a kid, it was a mantra. Alpha, beta, omega. We had a disc with this — a symbol on it. Mom used it to help all of us. It was about balance — a beta can become an alpha in the same way an alpha can fall to omega. The triskelion has different meaning to different packs — like past, present and future, or the love of mother, father, and child. One pack said ‘three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon and the truth’.” He shrugs, clearing his throat. “After the fire, it was guilt.”

Stiles considers it for a while. “What about now?”

“Pack.” He says easily, even though he hadn’t really thought about it. It’s true, though. “Pack, Mate, self.” He adds, quietly. 

Stiles hums. “Allison was Scott’s for a while. I always said that if I were a werewolf you wouldn’t catch me with an anchor that was a girlfriend or boyfriend. Finnicky stuff, love.”

“Yeah?” Derek says, feeling his chest get a little tight. 

“Back then, it would’ve been my dad, probably. Family, I guess. Maybe pack.”

“But now?” Derek says. 

Stiles blinks and his eyes are that beautiful brown again. Derek hadn’t realized how much he missed them. He touches Stiles’ cheek lightly and grins a little. “You.” Stiles says, shrugging. “Don’t tell Scott though. We made a bet on the boyfriend thing.”

Derek tries to ignore how his wolf is preening — being his mates anchor makes him feel powerful, trusted, safe. His human side fears failure. “Technically,” Derek says, trying to avoid his panic. “We never made anything official.”

Stiles huffs out a surprised laugh. “True, man, it was all the magic tattoo.”

“We could make it official,” Derek says. “But if your bet is that important, I understand.” He winks.

Stiles grins. He twists away to grab a small box from the drawer in his bedside table. He opens it, revealing a stack of cash among other items — little notes, it looks like, a handwritten coupon book, movie tickets and a few detention slips. He pulls the wad of bills out and counts out forty dollars and tosses it toward the door. “Scott can have his money.” He says, dropping back down next to Derek, a bright grin on his face.

Derek laughs a little and kisses him again. He’s allowed — they’re dating now. 

When they pull apart again, Stiles puts the rest of the cash back into the box. Something shiny catches Derek’s eye and he can tell the exact moment that Stiles notices that he’s seen it. He drops his shoulders a little and pulls it out from the bottom of the box, revealing a sharp silver object. 

“What’s this?” Derek says, his voice quiet. The atmosphere has changed between them, Stiles is stiffer and smells different, closed off. He prepares himself for Stiles to tell him it’s none of his business.

He doesn’t, of course. “Tip of a sword,” Stiles says, clearing his throat. “I killed Allison with it.”

Derek’s fishing the key out of his pocket before he really even thinks about it. He tosses it onto Stiles’ lap. Stiles picks it up, putting the arrowhead down carefully on the bedspread between their legs. He twists the key in his hands a few times. “What’s this?” He asks, voice just as quiet as Derek’s had been when he asked the same question. 

“Key I gave to Kate,” Derek answers. “She used it to get into the house, seal the exits and burn my family alive.” Stiles turns it over in his fingers again. Derek stops him and taps the side the lipstick used to be on. “I found it outside the house when Laura and I rushed back when we felt the bonds snapping. She had kissed it and left it in the driveway.”

Stiles taps the key on his thigh and then clears his throat. “I had — there was these like — god, it was all so messed up.” He exhales, hands shaking.It’s clear he hasn’t spent time discussing this much at all, and Derek holds his breath as Stiles speaks again. “These soldiers, spirits, that I controlled. So I mean, technically it was one of them that killed Allison. I killed some deputies — Pablo Rodriguez and Ezekiel Zimmerman, they were both new hires and had young kids, and a guy I had known for years as kid, Tyler Pratt — and I hurt some nurses, and I killed this guy Katashi, too. But the Oni killed Allison. I think Chris, or maybe Scott, broke the sword in a fit of anger later. It doesn’t really matter, I still ended up with this.” He picks it up again, holding the key in one hand and the sword tip in the other. 

“Were you there?” Derek asks, still quiet.

Stiles shakes his head. “No. Yes. It was a mess. There was two of me — nogitsune and myself. I was there. I wasn’t. It doesn’t really matter. I remember it.” He runs a hand through his hair. 

Derek nods a little. “I wish I would’ve been there. Cora was there instead.”

“Did she see it?” Stiles asks.

Derek shrugs. “We never talked about it. Laura and I assumed she hid. Kate — Kate stuck around and watched. If she’d seen Cora, she wouldn’t be alive still, Kate wouldn’t have wanted witnesses like that, even though she was leaving Laura and I. I could still smell Kate, even through all the smoke. So Cora must’ve been hiding.”

Stiles drops the sword tip but keeps the key in his hand, turning it over and over. “Pretty fucked that we keep these, huh?” He says, swallowing.

Derek nods. He picks up the sword tip and looks at it. “You know this wasn’t you, right?” Derek says, barely above a whisper.

Stiles nods, slow but final. “And you know too?”

Derek has to look away from the key, but he nods too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I'm dumb and thought this was 14 chapters but it's actually 15, surpriiiise? This one technically could be the end but I'm going to wrap it all up with a lil bow in the next one, so there's that.
> 
> So thankful for all of you that followed along, thank you!


	15. i made this place for you; a place for you to love me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and this is the map of my heart, the landscape  
> after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is  
> a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me  
> tight, it's getting cold.   
> [...]  
> I crawled out the window and ran into the woods.  
> I had to make up all the words myself. The way  
> they taste, the way they sound in the air. I passed  
> through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled  
> around for a while, and stumbled back out. I made  
> this place for you. A place for to love me.   
> If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is.  
> _____________________________________________________  
> 

Derek rolls awake, slowly and content. It only takes his senses half a second to catch up — Stiles’ jeep is pulling around the corner down the street. He finds his phone on the bed side table and checks the time — it’s just past 3. Stiles had thought his meeting might go until he had to be at the stand close to 6; Derek hopes that means things went well rather than the opposite. 

Stiles shuts the jeep door quietly, more aware of how loud everything is now that he’s a wolf himself. Derek focuses on the heartbeats around him — the rest of the pack is still asleep, save for Danny who is in his office, working diligently if the sounds of the keys on his laptop are any sign. 

Stiles practically sneaks down the hallway toward their room, opening the door slowly and carefully, stopping it just before it squeaks, snaking his body into the crack slowly. 

He looks proud of himself, too busy focusing on being quiet to notice Derek’s already awake, probably. He trips on Derek’s shoes and stumbles into the dresser in his over-dramatic attempt to stay quiet, which ends in him smacking his hip against the corner. He curses under his breath and then hisses his mouth shut, eyes flying toward the bed. 

Derek raises his eyebrows and tries to hide his grin behind the blanket over him.   
“Asshole,” Stiles says, dropping onto the bed next to him. “That hurt.”   
Derek wraps a hand around Stiles’ waist to rub where it’s tender. “Sorry,” He mumbles, still grinning. “Was sweet of you.”

Stiles rolls his eyes but pushes closer to Derek. “I was trying to let you sleep,” He says, sounding more tired by the second. 

“Heard the Jeep come around the corner,” Derek says. “Wolf stuff.”

“Stalker,” Stiles says, sounding content.   
Derek buries his nose into the crook of Stiles neck and nips at the skin there gently. 

Stiles laughs and pushes him back lightly. 

“Case closed?” Derek asks. 

“Up to them to deal with it,” Stiles says, shrugging. “But I gave them clear instructions.”   
“What was it?”   
“Dullahan,” Stiles says. “Headless rider that brings death.”   
Derek whistles quietly. “Sounds impressive.”  
“The thing is freaky as fuck,” Stiles says. “But yeah.”

“Where is it?”   
“Australia,” Stiles says. “Far away from here.” 

“Good,” Derek says, laughing a little.   
“So,” Stiles continues, heartbeat picking up a little. “Spring break is in a couple weeks.”   
Derek nods, mostly used to the quick subject changes now. “And?” Stiles’ heartbeat is still fast, nervous.   
“I thought we could go somewhere.” 

“The pack?” Derek asks, even though he thinks he knows what Stiles means.   
“Sure,” Stiles says, too quick to be what he had in mind.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Where am I taking you?”   
Stiles grins a little. “I’d love to see New York. Where you grew up.” 

Derek flinches.

“But I’d take Disneyworld.” Stiles says, still calm. 

“Maybe,” Derek says. “I’ll think about it.” 

“Can you imagine? Sourwolf himself in the happiest place on earth? You’d probably combust.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “I know how to have fun, Stiles.”   
“Yeah? Your version of fun is reading a commentary the size of my head on Shakespeare.”   
Derek pokes him in the side. “They don’t make books the size of your head. It’s far too large.” 

Stiles pinches him. “Shut up, yours is bigger.” Before Derek can even open his mouth, Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Yeah, innuendo.” 

Derek huffs a laugh. “I’ll think about it,” He says again. “New York.”

“We don’t have too.” Stiles says, settling closer still. His eyes are closed, his heartbeat slowing now that he’s got the question out in the open.

“I know,” Derek says, shifting to give Stiles more room. Stiles just falls back into the space. 

“Few hours of sleep,” Stiles mumbles, already falling into sleep.

Derek can’t argue with that. 

 

Stiles rolls out of bed a few hours later, groaning as he goes. Apparently 5:45 in the morning means all attempts at being quiet are left behind. Derek sits up as Stiles rifles through the dresser for clothes.

“Did you do my laundry?” He asks, lifting a shirt up accusingly. 

Derek shrugs, even though he did. “I dunno.”

“Liar,” Stiles says. “I told you I could do it.”

“I was already doing mine,” Derek points out, giving up on the lie. 

“You love taking care of me,” Stiles says, still accusatory.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says, laughing. “I won’t do that anymore.”

Stiles flings the shirt at Derek. “Shut up, asshole.”

“Feisty when you don’t sleep,” Derek says, unsure how he’s already so in love with someone he has known for such a short time. 

“Give me back my shirt,” Stiles says, shimmying his hips into his jeans. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Should’ve thought about that before you threw it at me,” Derek challenges, tightening his hand around it.

Stiles launches himself at Derek, growling playfully as he goes.

The lamp on the bedside table falls and knocks over a stack of books and the alarm clock. Stiles straddles him, effectively pinning Derek’s legs. Before he can make a move for the shirt, their bedroom door opens. 

Scott looks unimpressed immediately. “I thought you guys were getting attacked.”

Stiles takes the distraction as a chance to tear the shirt away from Derek’s grip, lifting it in celebration. 

Derek huffs and lurches up, taking Stiles’ assumed victory as a chance to upend them both, so he ends up on top of Stiles instead. 

Scott sighs and slams their door shut.

Stiles is laughing, clutching the shirt to his chest. 

Derek knows he does actually have to get to the stand for a shift, so he doesn’t try to fight for it back, just nuzzles into Stiles’ throat, pushing their scents together.

“I’ll miss you,” Stiles says, voice serious.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Derek says, even though he will miss Stiles too. 

He’s not sure if that’s a side effect of knowing what it’s like to have Stiles gone or if it’s just part of being mates. He could ask Cora if he could stand to hear her wax poetic about Isaac.

Stiles shimmies his way out from beneath Derek and slips the shirt on. “Thanks for doing my laundry, Der.”

“Love taking care of you,” Derek says, not even embarrassed by it.

Stiles grins and leans down to kiss him. “See you, babe.”

Derek repeats it back and watches him leave, laughs when he hears Scott throw something at him, mumbling about early hour decency. 

 

Stiles car has barely left the garage by the time Cora’s peeking her head into their bedroom. Her nose scrunches, but she doesn’t say anything, just pushes her way through and sits on the edge of the bed, looking pointedly at Derek.

He stares back. “What?”

“Isaac got up to go to the bathroom last night,” Cora says, as if Derek should care.

He stares. 

“And heard you guys.” Cora says, nodding her chin a little. 

Ah, there. Derek exhales. “I’m going to spend spring break sound proofing this place,” He says, sitting up. 

“No, you’re going to spend spring break showing Stiles around New York,” She says quickly. “Right?”

Derek sighs. “I don’t really want to go back there, Cora.” 

“I could bring Isaac.” She insists. “We could visit them.”

“They’re just graves, Cora.” Derek says, annoyed now. “They’re not there.”

Cora smells annoyed but she doesn’t show it. “It would be good for you.”

Derek huffs. “Are you a therapist or something?”

Cora rolls her eyes. “Don’t be difficult, Derek. You were holding onto this secret for years. Don’t you think it would be good to let it go?”

“I’ve let it go,” He answers, too quick to be true. He’s sure his heart beat was enough of a tell, though.

She levels him with a stare.

“I meant what I said,” He concedes. “About thinking about it.”

She nods, pushing away from the bed. “Great.”

Derek holds his breath until Cora’s left the room and the soft click of the door closing promises he’s alone again. 

He pulls his laptop out from where he’d stashed it under the bed last night and looks at plane tickets to New York.

 

Two days before their flight to New York, Stiles takes Derek to the cemetery just outside of Beacon Hills. There’s five bouquets of flowers stacked on each other on the center consul of the jeep, the whole car smelling like them.

Stiles had just come home from the stand and motioned for Derek to follow him. The flowers were the only clue he had, right up until he saw the sign for Greater Beacon Valley Cemetery and Stiles flicked his turn signal on. 

Derek takes two of the bouquets and Stiles takes the other three, still no words exchanged between them, and Derek follows him quietly. Stiles stops for a second, and Derek glances at the stones around him, but there’s not any names he recognizes. 

“I come once a month,” Stiles says, turning slightly. “Usually alone. On the anniversaries, that’s when other people come.” He starts walking again. 

Derek’s not sure what to say, so he says nothing.

The first grave he stops at is cleaner than the others. Erica Ann Reyes. There’s flowers in the vase already, dying now. Stiles shifts the bouquets he’s holding into one hand in order to take the dying flowers out. “The purple ones, would you?” Stiles says, nodding towards the bouquet in Derek’s hand. 

Derek nods and places the bouquet carefully into the vase. At the base of the headstone, next to the vase, there’s a small assortment of items. There’s a small Catwoman figurine, a tube of lipstick, a pair of sunglasses and a piece of paper folded up inside a ziplock bag. 

“She was a bitch,” Stiles says, staring at the headstone. “But she was our bitch.” He laughs a little. “She had a crush on me, apparently. Before she was bitten by Peter, I mean. She liked to remind me to make me uncomfortable.”

“Sounds like Laura,” Derek says. 

Stiles huffs a laugh, touches his fingers to the top of the headstone and then starts walking again.

Verenon James Boyd’s headstone is simpler, not as large and shiny as Erica’s had been. Stiles collects the old flowers and replaces them with one of the fresh bouquets in his arms. There’s a pair of skates resting against the headstone, both worn from use and the weather. There’s another note in a ziplock bag here, and a ROTC challenge coin. 

“Quiet but quick witted,” Stiles says, kicking at some loose grass. “You would’ve liked him.”

Derek nods. “Just my type.”

Stiles huffs a laugh and starts walking again. 

The third headstone they stop at is cluttered with items and small flags. Sheriff Johnathan Elias Stilinski’s headstone is connected to Agnieszka Claudia Gajos-Stilinski’s. There’s two notes in bags at this one, one on either side of the headstone. Derek takes the dying flowers from Stiles’ mom’s side as Stiles is taking the flowers from John’s vase.

“There was this — bull shit over where Dad would be buried,” Stiles says, carefully placing the two bouquets he’s holding into the vases now. “Like, not even from people who mattered. Scott’s asshole of a dad made a huge fuss, like it was the greatest disrespect to Melissa if we buried him here.”

“She didn’t care?”

“She and my mom were friends,” Stiles says, voice cracking. “She wanted him here with her. Dad loved Mel, and Mel loved him but…my parents were meant to be together.”

Derek nods. He knows what that feels like. 

“My dad hated all the supernatural bullshit,” He says, laughing a little. “Couldn’t keep up with it, I mean. Called Parrish a fire dog and Jackson an iguana. Not even to be a dick, he just couldn’t be bothered to learn the right names.” 

“I wish I could’ve met him,” Derek says honestly. 

“He would’ve loved to wave a gun around,” Stiles says, smiling fondly. “Threaten you a bit.”

Derek huffs. “No doubt you get your protective trait from him, then.”

Stiles grins. “All my best traits are him, man.” He says, touching the headstone gently. “Allison is over here,” He says, already walking.

Derek’s holding the only living bouquet now, Stiles has four dead ones in his hands. He’s shaking a little, just barely, his hands trembling and breath hitching slightly. Derek wants to say something, but nothing worthy comes to mind, so he walks silently beside his mate.

Allison is buried between her mother, who died only two years before Allison, and a headstone carved with Chris’ name and birthday but no date of death. 

“Allison’s mom tried to kill Scott,” Stiles says, taking the flowers out of the vase. There’s fake flowers in the vase next to her mother’s name. “She killed herself after Scott bit her to save himself. Just this — this deep-rooted, horrible hate, you know? She married into the Argent family, but they got to her still, and hard.” Stiles rubs a hand over his face. “Chris didn’t really want to bury Allison here. They had changed so much since her death and it’s not like — Chris misses Victoria, you know, I’m sure. But he wasn’t proud of who they had been together.”

“But she’s buried here anyway,” Derek presses, wanting to hear Stiles talk forever.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, nodding. “I think Chris ended up thinking it was kind of…a poetic justice, or something. Like, maybe Victoria died close-minded and vengeful, but Allison died protecting the thing Victoria hated. The woman Victoria never would’ve been.”

“Full circle.”

Stiles nods. He drops the dead flowers off to the side and kneels down. In front of her grave is a laminated strip of photos of she and Scott, a necklace and an arrow. There’s a note in a ziplock bag here, too. Derek places the flowers into the vase and kneels beside Stiles. 

Stiles reaches for the ziplock bag and opens it, taking the note out and slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans before taking another folded piece of paper from his sweatshirt pocket. He reaches into the other sweatshirt pocket and takes the blade of the sword out. His hands are shaking more now. 

He taps the folded note on the base of the headstone a few times before clearing his throat. “I want to leave behind the guilt.” He clears his throat. “It’s not worth carrying around, you know?”

Derek nods. The key is heavy in his pocket, hot against his thigh. He doesn’t move or speak.

Stiles tucks the note into the ziplock bag and seals it again, setting it back into place behind the vase. He stares at the blade for several seconds before he sets it down next to the arrow. 

They walk a long path back to the jeep. They each have a bundle of dead flowers in one hand, their other hands held together tightly.

Once they’re back in the jeep, the nervous energy that had been radiating off of Stiles seems to disappear. He shakes his shoulders a little and exhales. 

“Feels good,” He says, nodding. “Really good.”

The key in Derek’s pocket has never felt heavier.

 

Back at the firehouse, Stiles is relaxed and happy. He plays with Draco in the back for a while, chasing him and wrestling in the dirt, playful and loud. 

Derek watches from the kitchen for several minutes before his skin feels too tight, like it’s vibrating off his bones. He wants to run. 

Instead, he goes for a drive.

He ends up at Chris’s house in record time and knocks before he lets himself think too far into what he’s doing. 

Chris answers the door and doesn’t even look surprised to see Derek standing there, hands shoved into his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.

Chris just nods his head and opens the door wider.

It’s still quiet between them as Chris shuts the door behind Derek.

“You make your own arrowheads?” Derek asks, clearing his throat. It all feels weird now.

Chris nods. “In the shed out back.”

“Could you — I want to make something.”

Chris nods and starts walking, not even motioning for Derek to follow. Derek does follow though, trying to force himself to relax his stature. Chris is pack, Chris is safe. He doesn’t need to be on alert here.

“I’ve got some silver and other metals to choose from,” Chris says, unlocking the shed with a code. “Depends on what you’re wanting to make.”

Derek clears his throat again. “A ring?” He says, voice quieter than he wants it to be.

Chris doesn’t even pause. He just nods, smelling of happiness despite his blank expression. “I’ve tried a couple, just for fun, so I have a few molds you can take a look at.”

“Could we melt down this?” Derek asks, finally pulling the key from his pocket.

Chris takes and nods, swallowing. “It’s a sturdy key, but it might not be enough on it’s own, though.”

Derek nods and swallows hard before pulling his dad’s ring out of his pocket, too. “Could you — I don’t know. Mix the metals?”

Chris nods. “It’ll be a bit chaotic.”

Derek huffs. “Perfect for him, huh?”

Chris grins a little at that.

Chris stands beside Derek and talks him through the process of melting down the key while he worked beside him at melting down the ring. He sets up a work station for Derek with a clay crucible and guides him to melt the key using a blowtorch. When it’s melted, there’s little pieces of other materials that have risen to the top — Chris directs him to use a graphite rod to pull those away from the silver. 

They pour the two metals into the mold Derek picked at the same time, careful and slow.

They sit in silence for several minutes while the metals cool enough to remove from the mold.

“I’m sorry,” Chris says, clearing his throat, as he flips the mold and bangs it onto the table, the ring making a quiet sound as it falls and hits the tabletop. Chris uses forceps to pick up the still-hot metal from the mold and then dunks it into a bowl of water — which bubbles and starts steaming from the heat. “For what she did to you.”

Derek watches the water start to cool again. 

“For what we did to you. As a family.” Chris corrects. “I lost my wife, my daughter — I lost my whole family when I changed our code. But you lost your whole family before that. And you aren’t alone. And I’m sorry.” He pulls the gloves off and reaches into the water and plucks the ring out — a messy mix of the two metals. He offers it to Derek.

Derek takes it and slips it into his pocket before even looking at it and offers a hand to Chris.

Chris takes it and shakes, tears in both of their eyes.

 

Derek doesn’t look at the ring until he’s back in the firehouse garage. He can hear Stiles’ heartbeat inside, probably in the kitchen bugging whoever’s cooking tonight. 

It’s chaotic, just like Chris had said. It’s perfect. 

He slips the ring back into his pocket.

Again, his pocket feels heavy — but this time, with hope.

 

Cora and Isaac fly with them to New York, but when they land the two couples take separate cars.

Isaac wants to see the city where Cora and Derek had lived with Laura after the fire. Derek suspects Cora is giving he and Stiles a chance to be alone as they drive the two hours to Catskill Park. Derek needs to see his home. He needs to show Stiles his home. He needs to learn to breathe here again. 

The Hale family still owns the land, 640 acres of woods and winding trails in the center of Catskill Park. The Hale family has owned the land for generations, a quiet agreement with the state of New York that has held up through the years only because the Hale family funds the forrestry department that is in charge of upkeep. 

The house is still there, charred and ruined. He knows this. It’s in his nightmares and flashbacks. He thought he remembered what it looked like — but when they pull up to it, Stiles’ clammy hand tight in his over the center console, it looks different.

It’s the same charred and ruined corpse of his family home. But Derek doesn’t feel so heavy when he looks at it.

Stiles is holding his breath, his chaotic energy bubbling beneath his skin, awkward and waiting for Derek to move.

Derek smiles a little at him and gets out, waiting at the hood of the car for Stiles to join him. 

“Is this safe?” Stiles asks as Derek steps onto the porch steps.

“Oh, probably not,” Derek says honestly. “Want to see my room?”

Stiles huffs a laugh but follows happily behind him.

Derek remembers exactly where their bodies were found. It feels like it was burned into his memory forever, the scene of that day — and now, as he walks through the house with Stiles at his side, even feeling lighter, he can see them. Hew wide steps around them and Stiles follows his steps exactly, eyes lingering at the areas Derek avoids.

They don’t get back in the car for another three hours. Derek shows him the house — as much as he could before the wood started cracking under their weight — and talked about his happiest memories here. Then the two run the perimeter of their territory, chests heaving in unison as they drop into the cool tall grass in front of the house.

“Do you want to see them?” Stiles asks, voice quiet, as they drive back down the long driveway.

“Tomorrow.” Derek finds himself promising, despite not being sure he really wants to do that.

 

They stop at a florist on the way, one that Stiles found on google maps from their hotel bed this morning. Cora and Isaac are with them now, both quiet in the backseat.

“You should go out to see the house,” Derek says, clearing his throat. “I was able to walk Stiles through the downstairs, at least.”

Cora is studying him in the rear-view mirror. “I think we’ll go today,” She says finally. “Did you run?”

Derek nods. “The trails are overgrown, but you could do it on memory, I’m sure.”

“Derek tripped over four tree roots,” Stiles announces happily.

“And Stiles tripped over nearly fourteen,” Derek answers back quickly, poking Stiles in the side.

 

The lighter atmosphere keeps up until they’re slowing down to follow the graveyard driveway. When Derek parks, the four of them all sit completely still for several seconds before Derek realizes they’re all waiting on him, so he clears his throat and opens the door.

“I haven’t been,” Derek says quietly once they all unload from the car, bouquets in hand. “Lead the way?” 

Cora nods, arm wrapped into Isaac’s elbow as leads them all quietly to where their family is buried.

Derek sees Olivia and the girls’ grave first, but Cora keeps walking to stop in front of their parents instead. 

“Tell us about them,” Stiles says, sitting down cross-legged on the grass. It’s wet but he makes no point of noticing.

Derek and Cora do — taking turns telling embarrassing stories and memories, tears and laughter between all four of them.

Finally, when their stomachs are all growling loud with hunger, they place the bouquets into the vases, squeezing them in with the fake flowers Cora left before they moved to Beacon Hills. Cora and Isaac start toward the car, but Derek holds Stiles’ hand to keep him back.

It’s quiet between them as Derek struggles to find the words to say, but Stiles looks and smells calm and confident, his eyes gentle and kind.

“I love you,” Derek says, finally.

Stiles grins. “I know,” He says. “And I love you.”

“When you were gone —” He clears his throat. “I don’t want to feel that again.”

“I’m not going anywhere, dude,” Stiles says, grinning.

Derek has the ring in his hand, has been holding it tight in his fist for several minutes now. It feels hot and hopeful, just as it did in his pocket. 

Is proposing in a cemetery a weird and twisted thing? Definitely. Still, Derek drops to one knee and Stiles laughs a little, breathless.

Derek presents the ring. “I made this with Chris — out of the key and my dad’s wedding ring. I want to leave the guilt. I want to leave it all so I can be yours forever.”

Stiles laughs again, wide smile on his face. “Yeah,” He says, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, please.”

Derek slips the ring on his finger, glad to see it fits perfectly — something he hadn’t really considered until now. 

Meant to be.

Cora and Isaac are watching them from several feet away, Cora’s phone still in her hand and outstretched from when she must have snapped a photo — both of them smiling widely.

Stiles’ cheeks are red, but he smells happy, not embarrassed, so Derek doesn’t question it. 

With one last glance toward his family behind him, the four of them leave the cemetery, arm in arm.

 

 

The thing about leaving guilt behind is that it’s not always going to stay there — Derek feels it when they get back onto the plane headed toward California. He feels it when their pack is waiting for them, wild and loud, complete with balloons and a huge “congratulations on your engagement” sign, at the arrivals gate. He feels it when Stiles drives them home in his jeep, and again when Stiles holds his hand as they walk inside and he feels the ring against his fingers.

The thing about leaving guilt behind is that it’s easier said than done.

Derek knew this — he really didn’t expect to melt the key down, get down on one knee, and forget what had happened. He’s in love, but he’s not stupid. 

Stiles still wakes up with a gasping breath and he still passes the photo of Allison in the hallway with a pace quicker than the rest of the hallway. He still mumbles things under his breath and he still has anxiety attacks that bring him — and Draco — down to the floor.

But the thing about guilt, when it’s brought into the light, when it’s left at a gravestone or melted into a promise, is that they don’t have to face it alone.

So when they board the plane and he feels that pang of guilt, Stiles squeezes his hand tightly, and Cora tells him they’ll visit again soon. When they see their pack, a pack Derek still feels undeserving of, Scott scents him, strong and invasively, right in the middle of the airport. When he and Stiles are alone and the ring is rubbing against Derek’s palms, Stiles talks quietly about how much his dad would’ve liked Derek and Cora. When Stiles wakes up, gasping for air, tears in his eyes from the reminder of what had happened, he curls tight into Derek’s side and tells him about it. When he’s had a good day, he takes Derek’s hand and the two stand in front of Allison’s photo together, quiet but sure — she doesn’t hate him. She never would.

They have each other, and they have their pack, and there are things left unsaid and unfinished — Kate is still out there somewhere, after all — but those things seem manageable. 

Stiles looked death in the eye and said “not today”, and Derek welcomed death in order to save a pack he had felt undeserving of. They had both made sacrifices and lost people. But they had each other now, and they would continue to have each other — right up until the end.

But the end didn’t seem so scary now. 

It didn’t seem like it was lurking behind each corner, or in the flames of every fire he saw.

The end was years away, old and wrinkled and happy.

The end was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, so sorry for leaving this unfinished for so long -- some personal things came up that made it hard to get this up. Also, turns out I'm just *really* bad at endings. Really bad. So, sorry about that, too. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for coming along on this little journey & for the sweet words you left. 
> 
> Poem & chapter title are from Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Siken.


End file.
